Classic Poem

Fear not the lion, little hare,
Those dreadful fangs thou needst not flee,
For these have never learned to tear
A puny little beast like thee;
On mightier foes he spends his rage,
From weakling necks doth he refrain,
And shall thy blood his thirst assuage?
That petty draught would he disdain.
As thou, for hounds a fitting prey,
His hunger canst not satisfy,
So Caesar's might doth turn away
And pass the Dacian stripling by.