The Greeks had genius -- 'twas a gift The Muse vouchsafed in glorious measure; The boon of Fame they made their aim And prized above all worldly treasure.
But _we_ -- how do we train _our_ youth? _Not_ in the arts that are immortal, But in the greed for gains that speed From him who stands at Death's dark portal.
Ah, when this slavish love of gold Once binds the soul in greasy fetters, How prostrate lies -- how droops and dies The great, the noble cause of letters!
End of title
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