Classic Poem

" Your trifling all is vain,
Sing me a nobler strain!"
Thus you implore me;
Then grant the ease I crave,
Such as Maecenas gave
To bards before me.

So shall I weave a song
That through the ages long
May never perish;
Nay, for the funeral flame
Cannot consume a fame
That all men cherish.

Dully the oxen toil
On harsh and barren soil
That yields no treasure.
But fat and fruitful earth
Turns weariness to mirth
And toil to pleasure.