And carved stone columns
Depict the splendor of the ancients,
A muse to dance and jest
And help the head under
That gold crown
Forget and bring his mind rest.
The robe he wears
Is long and deep purple.
from the east,
And plenty of age wine
from the west,
An indulgent numbness he enjoys,
His table is high
And when he eats,
the chairs round him are filled
With the brave and diligent
All ready for the feast.
And some say even just.
Half the world submits to his thumb
And bends to his breath of words,
Yet the scepter always wants to reach farther
And the spoils that come from the blade
Are empty illusions of fighting men.