Iv. Of The Golden Age

“Recall for me, recall The time more true and ample; The world whereon I trample, How tortuous and small! Behold, I tire of all.

Once, gods in jeweled mail Through greenwood ways invited; There now the moon is blighted, And mosses long and pale On lifeless cedars trail.”

“Child, keep this good unrest: But give to thine own story Simplicity with glory; To greatness dispossessed, Dominion of thy breast.

In abstinence, in pride, Thou, who from Folly’s boldest Thy sacred eye withholdest, Another morn shalt ride At Agamemnon’s side.”