But on the zenith, mass'd, a glittering throng,
the distant stars dropt a disdainful song:

Breaking the desert's tawny level ring
three columns, an oasis; but no shade
falls from the curl'd acanthus-leaves; no spring
bubbles soft laughter for its leaning maid.
The cell is waste: where once the god abode
a burning desolation furls its wing:
enter, and lo! once more, the hopeless road
world-wide, the tawny desert's level ring.

The birds that fly out of the west
into the creeping violet shade,
the birds that find no welcoming nest
(O heart that wavers, what wings invade?),
the birds that speed on desolate quest
(O heart that scatters in gusty flight!),
the birds that return not, lost wings of unrest,
have carried my heart into the night.

Scant majesty of stars prevails
across the uncreated night,
and fate is in the wind that wails
or clamours on the lonely height.

ON TIME'S THERESHOLD

" See: brood: remember: this thy function only;
Neither to have nor do is meet for thee. "
" Ah, earth's a palace where I must go lonely! "
" Nay: earth's a dungeon which thou passest, free. "

" WHERE 's number ONE," you say, " if this book's TWO?"
My first is shy, so what am I to do?
But if in this the First you'd rather see,
Take one away, and then it ONE will be.

Now with the rights of children three
Caesar rewards my Muse and me,
And mateless I'll remain.
The boon that one alone can give
By his divine prerogative
Must not be made in vain.

Thou glory of the world, our destinies,
Our very faith in heaven, are stayed on thee.
Should verse of mine find favour in thine eyes,
Though often writ in haste, 'twill plead for me:
Grant me a father's right; though fate's decree
Deny me fatherhood, that wrong redress;
If I have failed, may this my comfort be,
And this the generous guerdon of success.

I CAN pardon your habit of spending the night
O'er the wine-cup; for Cato in that did delight.
And though with your verses the Muses you sully,
I praise them; for here you take pattern by Tully,
When you vomit, you do as Mark Antony did;
And your greed by Apicius' shadow is hid.
But when you indulge in your beastliest tricks,
To find you a model I'm quite in a fix.

You never recite, though you pose as a poet.
Well, for that many thanks: we will gladly forgo it.