Classic Poem

Lord , I am humbled by the great,
For all the great have deadly foes;
There is a worm would like to eat
The heart of every perfect rose;

There is a crow would like to pick
The bones of every glory bare;
My enemies are gentle souls
And for my death they do not care.

My enemies still suffer me
And I am scatheless to this hour.
Men hunt upon the hills of time
A nobler quarry to devour.