English poem
Epigrams, CXLV (On fair foundations Theocrats unwise)
by Ambrose Bierce (1842–1914)
On fair foundations Theocrats unwise Rear superstructures that offend the skies. “Behold,” they cry, “this pile so fair and tall! Come dwell within it and be happy all.” But they alone inhabit it, and find, Poor fools, ’tis but a prison for the mind.
More by Ambrose Bierce
- Epigrams, CLXVIII (Think not, O man, the world…)
- Epigrams, CLXXIII (Weep not for cruelty to rogues…)
- Epigrams, CLXXXVII (The man of “honor” pays his…)
- Epigrams, CXIV (What poignant memories the shadows bring)
- Epigrams, CXVIII (“My laws,” she said, “are of…)
- Epigrams, CXXII (Ah, woe is his, with length…)
- Epigrams, CXXXII (Do you to others as you…)
- Epigrams, LIII (“There’s no free will,” says the…)