Who Love Too Much, Hate In The

The Generation Of Mankind Is Like The Generation Of Leaves. The Wind Scatters The Leaves On The Ground, But The Living Tree Burgeons With Leaves Again In The Spring.

Zeus Most Glorious And Most Great, Thundercloud, Throned In The Heavens! Let Not The Sun Go Down And The Darkness Come, Until I Cast Down Headlong The Citadel Of Priam In Flames, And Burn His Gates With Blazing Fire, And Tear To Rags The Shirt Upon Hectors Breast! May Many Of His Men Fall About Him Prone In The Dust And Bite The Earth!

Is He Not Sacred, Even To The Gods, The Wandering Man Who Comes In Weariness?

Goddess-nurse Of The Young, Give Ear To My Prayer, And Grant That This Woman May Reject The Love-embraces Of Youth And Dote On Grey-haired Old Men Whose Powers Are Dulled, But Whose Hearts Still Desire.

Will Cast The Spear And Leave The Rest To Jove.