From His Tongue Flowed Speech Sweeter Than

Do Not Mourn The Dead With The Belly.

There Is No Greater Fame For A Man Than That Which He Wins With His Footwork Or The Skill Of His Hands.

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

Two Diverse Gates There Are Of Bodiless Dreams, These Of Sawn Ivory, And Those Of Horn. Such Dreams As Issue Where The Ivory Gleams Fly Without Fate, And Turn Our Hopes To Scorn. But Dreams Which Issue Through The Burnished Horn, What Man Soe'er Beholds Them On His Bed, These Work With Virtue And Of Truth Are Born.

Sinks My Sad Soul With Sorrow To The Grave.