University of Virginia Library

What shall a man desire?
Rule and the stout right arm,
Revenue, limitless honour,
And houses of gear and gold.
Sea-going ships and castles,
Spearmen and herds at his will,
All may be his for a season,
But envy is ever at watch,
And the least of his slaves with a knife
May make him as poor as the dead;
Who shone like a god in his throne.

What should a man desire?
To be happy and yet to be hid;
Days without honour or shame;
Days without want or wealth.
A life where the strife we endure
Equals our power to achieve.
And fortune to heed, that no act
Angers our despots above:
And caution to guard from our lips
Boast and light word of disdain;
So us may the dæmon allow,
When the dark hour is ready, and night
Beckons, to creep to our graves,
Weary, without having felt
How heavy omnipotent hands,
How dire are the curses of Zeus!
What shall a man desire,
How shall he rule his days,
How shall he keep his name clean
In the turmoil and rust of the years?
Calm he shall reach at, and lose,
And Eros shall bring him unrest,
And arise to him, promising roses,
And bring to him adders and snares,
Covered in baskets of bloom.
But each man believes in his brain,
That sole upon earth he is wise,
That all who have ventured and failed
Are as nothing; he only shall reap
Love without evil and snares;
So his ode hymeneal is sung,
In his halls a new presence begins.
The bride with her low breathing sweet,
And her calm eyes fed with delight,
The still touch of her hand, and the sound
Of her voice like a brooding dove,
Of her word, as it fondles and loves,
In a tone as a wind-wave is stirring
The junipers over the chalkpit,
The box alleys edging the down sward.
For these, which are fleeting delights,
He endures on his shoulders to bear
A yoke which is light a few years,
But heavy and leaden indeed
As the strength of a man goes away,
As the youth of his soul flickers out.
And he wakes by an emberless fire,
Bemoaning the cheat of his dream,
And he sits by the gray barren hearth,
A watcher in jealousy set
At his side, to dismay and expel
Forever the soul of his peace.

What shall a man desire?
I know not. The honour of war.
It is as the west wind catches
A feather and turns it away.
It is as the wild east finds it,
Plays with it, hurries it back.
So honour and death are shaken
In a random destiny's hand
In the urn of the wavering years.
The brave are undone in their rashness,
The prudent are too little brave,
These rush in to their ruin,
These live indeed but in shame.
To be made by ironical gods,
Halt, ragged, dim-eyed, broken down
With illness and age, ere the hour
Of their youth has in others departed.
So this is thy glory, O bard,
Sighing where others rejoice,
But in thyself a shadow,
And held for a foolish thing
By the lover, who learns his love,
By the warrior, whose conflict is cheered
By thy verse; therefore bear and be still.