I Have No Interest At

Persuasive Speech, And More Persuasive Sighs, Silence That Spoke And Eloquence Of Eyes.

Miserable Mortals Who Like Leaves At One Moment Flame With Life Eating The Produce Of The Land And At Another Moment Weakly Perish.

Reproach Is Infinite, And Knows No End So Voluble A Weapon Is The Tongue; Wounded, We Wound; And Neither Side Can Fail For Every Man Has Equal Strength To Rail.

Our Fruitless Labours Mourn, And Only Rich In Barren Fame Return.

They Did Not Know Her-gods Are Hard For Mortals To Recognize.