He Lives Not Long Who Battles With

What Greater Glory Attends A Man Than What He Wins With His Racing Feet And His Striving Hands?

There Is No Greater Fame For A Man Than That Which He Wins With His Footwork Or The Skill Of His Hands.

For They Imagined As They Wished--that It Was A Wild Shot,/ An Unintended Killing--fools, Not To Comprehend/ They Were Already In The Grip Of Death./ But Glaring Under His Brows Odysseus Answered: 'you Yellow Dogs, You Thought I'd Never Make It/ Home From The Land Of Troy. You Took My House To Plunder,/ Twisted My Maids To Serve Your Beds. You Dared/ Bid For My Wife While I Was Still Alive./ Contempt Was All You Had For The Gods Who Rule Wide Heaven,/ Contempt For What Men Say Of You Hereafter./ Your Last Hour Has Come. You Die In Blood.

...like That Star Of The Waning Summer Who Beyond All Stars Rises Bathed In The Ocean Stream To Glitter In Brilliance.

Yet, Taught By Time, My Heart Has Learned To Glow For Other's Good, And Melt At Other's Woe.