For Never, Never, Wicked Man Was Wise.

I Have No Interest At All In Food And Drink, But Only In Slaughter And Blood And The Agonized Groans Of Mangled Men

A Sound Mind In A Manly Body.

The Sun Rose On The Flawless Brimming Sea Into A Sky All Brazen-all One Brightening For Gods Immortal And For Mortal Men On Plowlands Kind With Grain.

But He Whose Inborn Worth His Acts Commend, Of Gentle Soul, To Human Race A Friend.

That Is The Gods' Work, Spinning Threads Of Death Through The Lives Of Mortal Men, An All To Make A Song For Those To Come.