"Love, with its fervent age, | must needs fade away; | but friendship follows on | until our final day. || The beauties, who now flee | disdainful, far from us, | will come | then softly, slowly | their toasts to offer us. || And we, amiable companions, | what shall we do with them then? | With them, one more glass | to drink, and then to die."
Created by d'Araprì