Farm

  

  The dark fields do not give fruit

continuously, nor are trees

accustomed to bear an equal wealth

 of fragrant flowers in every

circling year, but in alternation.

And thus the race of mortal men

is led by Fate. No clear sign arrives

to mortal men from Zeus. Yet we embark

on bold endeavors, long for many deeds,

our limbs are bound by shameless hope,

while the streams of foresight

lie far away. But we must hunt

for due measure in our love of gain.

The madness of unattainable desires

is too sharp. 

-Pindar

 

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