« A Drunken Scrawl | Main | Lorem Ipsum »

The Sword of Damocles

When guilty Pomp the drawn sword sees
  Hung o'er her, richest feasts in vain
Strain their sweet juice her taste to please;
  No lutes, no singing birds again
Will bring her sleep.

Posted by Charles on October 16, 2009 4:46 PM |

Post a comment

(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)