The Rule Of The Many Is Not

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.

I'm A Spalding Gray In A Rick Dees World.

Praise Me Not Too Much, Nor Blame Me, For Thou Speakest To The Greeks Who Know Me.

How Delicate Her Feet Who Shuns The Ground, Stepping A-tiptoe On The Heads Of Men.

Life Is Not To Be Bought With Heaps Of Gold; Not All Apollo's Pythian Treasures Hold, Or Troy Once Held, In Peace And Pride Of Sway, Can Bribe The Poor Possession Of The Day.