Page:Rudyard Kipling - A diversity of creatures.djvu/284

272 Me, in whose breast no flame hath burned
 * Life-long, save that by Pindar lit,

Such lore leaves cold: I am not turned
 * Aside to it

More than when, sunk in thought profound
 * Of what the unaltering Gods require,

My steward (friend but slave) brings round
 * Logs for my fire.