To some, thoughts flying into futurity's cloud; To some, pale provings mocking time and space; To some, the puzzling out to-day's hoarse crowd; To each his own: I run a backward race. I have been wandering distant roads, have striven To win new comprehensions; much in vain. There's that within me cares not what is given By such migrations; of a stubborn grain, This Hodge-like serf and tyrant trudges on, Grudges and growls at all my innovations, Lets new things go to rack when I am gone On other errands, sticks to's old vocations. @3Caelum, non animum@1 -- nay, scarce he'll see An altered sky, and this, all said and done, I like him for; he'll sit by his old tree, To eat his bit of dinner, out of the sun. |