What at the least do I own
That I can proudly call mine:
My bountiful harvest of seeds sown,
Or the winepress of my vine?

A thousand sheep on a hill,
A thousand herds grazing there;
Not a one of them I own still,
Tho’ the ownership I somehow bear.

A thousand chests of gold,
A thousand boxes of silver wares;
And all of them still, I behold,
Are temporarily under my cares.

A thousand lines unpenned,
A thousand notes to my name;
Yet all of them till the very end,
Are but a borrowed life and fame.

“Vanity of vanities…Oh what a poor man I really am!”