قصيدة Escape
,When foxes eat the last gold grape ,And the last white antelope is killed I shall stop fighting and escape .Into a little house I’ll build
,When foxes eat the last gold grape ,And the last white antelope is killed I shall stop fighting and escape .Into a little house I’ll build
Man, the egregious egoist (In mystery the twig is bent) ,Imagines, by some mental twist
,Avoid the reeking herd ,Shun the polluted flock ,Live like that stoic bird .The eagle of the rock
Now let no charitable hope Confuse my mind with images :Of eagle and of antelope
For this you’ve striven :Daring, to fail Your sky is riven .Like a tearing veil