Here in this far away land pleasing to such an old friend.

Every traveller I've ever known has complained of poor treatment:

He whom I recommend treatment delicious receives.

You've now regarded with awe all the structures which lie here in ruins,

Cultivated your eye, sensing each hallowed space.

How you've revered the formative will of those ancient artists!

In their own ateliers often I''ve visited them.

As for their works, why, I formed those myself--now this time I'm boasting

Not. Oh come now, admit what I am saying is true.

Where are your own creations, your service to me having slackened?

Where is invention's glow now? Where is the color all gone?

Friend, do you hope you can create again? --The school of the Ancients

Yet remains open. Its gates, years have not closed them to you.

I am eternally young, and as teacher I still love the young ones.

Wisdom that comes with old age pleases me not. Listen here: