Classic Poem

The wreath of honoured oak is on thy brow,
Thine is the noblest prize the Muse can give,
Well was that guerdon merited, but now
If thou be wise, Collinus, learn to live.
Henceforth forget ambition and begin
To live each day as though thou hadst but one;
For who has ever moved the maids that spin
To toil a moment when their task is done?
Were Thrasea's courage there, with Crispus' gold
And Melior's lavish hand, 'twere all in vain;
For Lachesis should never be cajoled,
Thy portion done, to turn the wheel again;
The thread her sisters wove, doth she unwind.
Three are the Fates, and there should ever be
One merciless, inexorable mind
To spurn thy prayer, though two had pitied thee.