Of Men Who Have A Sense Of

Life And Death Are Balanced As It Were On The Edge Of A Razor

Proud Is The Spirit Of Zeus-fostered Kings - Their Honor Comes From Zeus, And Zeus, God Of Council, Loves Them.

Now From His Breast Into The Eyes The Ache Of Longing Mounted, And He Wept At Last, His Dear Wife, Clear And Faithful, In His Arms, Longed For As The Sunwarmed Earth Is Longed For By A Swimmer Spent In Rough Water Where His Ship Went Down Under Poseidon's Blows, Gale Winds And Tons Of Sea. Few Men Can Keep Alive Through A Big Serf To Crawl, Clotted With Brine, On Kindly Beaches In Joy, In Joy, Knowing The Abyss Behind: And So She Too Rejoiced, Her Gaze Upon Her Husband, Her White Arms Round Him Pressed As Though Forever.

Immortals Are Never Alien To One Another.

To Labour Is The Lot Of Man Below; And When Jove Gave Us Life, He Gave Us Woe.