Classic Poem

“Great king,” the poet cried, his rebec stringing,
“Thy name shall live forever—through my singing!”

“Poor fool,” the king replied, “that lie is hoary;
Thy songs may live—because they chant my glory!”

So each, the sword or lyre glorifying,
In turn proclaimed his work alone undying;

And while their wordy warfare shook the rafter,
Old Time stood by and held his sides for laughter!