By Jove The Stranger And The Poor

The Sun Rose On The Flawless Brimming Sea Into A Sky All Brazen-all One Brightening For Gods Immortal And For Mortal Men On Plowlands Kind With Grain.

She Threw Into The Wine Which They Were Drinking A Drug Which Takes Away Grief And Passion And Brings Forgetfulness Of All Ills

I Would Rather Be Tied To The Soil As A Serf... Than Be King Of All These Dead And Destroyed.

His Native Home Deep Imag'd In His Soul.

There Is A Time For Many Words, And There Is Also A Time For Sleep.