NOTHING so foreign but th' athletic hind Can labour into blood. The hungry meal Alone he fears, or aliments too thin; By violent powers too easily subdued, Too soon expelled. His daily labour thaws, To friendly chyle, the most rebellious mass That salt can harden, or the smoke of years; Nor does his gorge the luscious bacon rue, Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste Of solid milk. But ye of softer clay, Infirm and delicate! and ye who waste With pale and bloated sloth the tedious day! Avoid the stubborn aliment, avoid The full repast; and let sagacious age Grow wiser, lesson'd by the dropping teeth. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE RUSSIAN ARMY GOES INTO BAKU by ALICIA SUSKIN OSTRIKER OCTAVES: 12 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST |