To be an ape in little of the mountain-making mother Like swarthy Cheops, but my own hands For only slaves, is a far sweeter toil than to cut Passions in verse for a sick people. I'd liefer bed one boulder in the house-wall than be the time's Archilochus: we name not Homer: who now Can even imagine the fabulous dawn when bay-leaves (to a blind Beggar) were not bitter in the teeth? Submitted by Holt
Added: 2 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 10 Sep 2026 11:17 PM | Viewed: 5345 times
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