Oft the trials of one hour anticipates…

Oft the trials of one hour anticipates

The joys of the next; for ‘tis fashion with the Fates

To try men’s fibre, as was Inarchus’ tried

That was ambitious of grandchildren and long cried

To mark his Jove-befooling Io heifer-turned

By whom his dream was dream’d, by the jaundiced Juno spurned;

And venal many-eyed Argus tormented,

That clogg’d her ‘scape and foil’d her plea by aberrant eyes in’s head:

For why at last, for all this, plaintive Inarchus

Joy’d for ‘s Jove-descended grandson, Epaphus; thus for ‘s curse!


‘Tis awry in the stars something, shouldst mortals

Toil in the fields all their days and pause not one for ease;

To weep by the streams of their lives like falls,

And find not footloose Solace straggle by to lay their disease.

Sometime saith some school foul infirmities of Fortune

Predominate and her better parts ruin;

The greatest hideth himself, our wisest his tongue,

The meekest most weeps, and Equity is barred long:

And, on, our best virtues are jettisoned by ill,

As princely mountains round contume the mellow hill!


Tut! Fibs! Fortune with me be not so unfortunate,

Whose smarts, like Inarchus’, by my love be determinate!


111 Total Views 1 Views Today

By Sydney Chesterfield on May 22, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry

Sorry, comments are closed on this post.