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...A CRADLE SONG, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A SWEET LULLABY by NICHOLAS BRETON 1914: 3. THE DEAD by RUPERT BROOKE THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 26. FIRST LOVE by THOMAS CAMPION SONNET PREFIXED TO 'NENNIO, OR A TREATISE OF NOBILITY' by EDMUND SPENSER THE LIVING GOD by ABRAHAM IBN EZRA MY LITTLE GARDEN by GWENDOLEN ALLEN TO THE HONOURABLE AND VIRTUOUS LADY, THE LADY TASBURGH by WILLIAM BASSE |