Classic Poem

Integer vitae.

Sinless, and sound, the bold good liver DARES ,
Nor needs the Moor's keen javelin, or his bow;
No quiver, charg'd with latent deaths he bears,
Where pointed poisons glow.

Safe, o'er the quicksand's foamy shoals he rows;
Safe, every wild of Caucasus surveys:
Or, where thy fabled stream, Hydaspes , flows,
Dreadless of danger, strays.

Once, o'er Sabinum 's forest's silent shade,
Wand'ring, the charms of Ælia's eyes , I sung:
A Wolf , out-starting, where, unarm'd, I stray'd,
Listen'd, and backward sprung.

Yet, fiercer savage never rang'd the glades
Of warlike Daunia's oak-abounding plains,
Nor paw'd the Lion's patrimonial shades,
Where Juba 's offspring reigns.

Thence though expos'd to bleaks, where nothing blooms,
Where never bud unfolds, to let in spring :
But one, long winter's dayless midnight glooms ,
Black as the Raven's wing .

Hence — tho' an outcast, to the sun's lost heat,
Houseless, and screen'd by no kind cavern's shades,
Still wou'd I love that face , whose smile so sweet,
A tongue, still sweeter aids !