XC

Which is the tyrant? say you. Well, 'tis he
That has the vine-leaf strewn among his hair
And will deliver countries to the care
Of courtesans--but I am vague, you see.


XCI

The dwellers of the city will oppress
Your days: the lion, a fight-thirsty fool,
The fox who wears the robe of men that rule--
So run with me towards the wilderness.


XCII

Our wilderness will be the laughing land,
Where nuts are hung for us, where nodding peas
Are wild enough to press about our knees,
And water fills the hollow of our hand.


XCIII

My village is the loneliness, and I
Am as the travellers through the Syrian sand,
That for a moment see the warning hand