Α?λινον, α?λινον ε?π?, τ? δ' ε? νικ?τωI(1)
O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees.
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone.
But well for him whose feet have trod
The weary road of earthly strife,
