Classic Poem

The conquered Inca to Pizarro said:
“I swear to fill this hall with virgin gold
As high as any Spaniard here can hold
His steel-gloved hand, if thou wilt spare my head.”

Then streamed the ingots from their rocky bed:
For weeks and weeks the tide of treasure roll'd
To reach the mark; but when the sum was told,
The victor only strangled him instead.

So, many have said to Fate: “If I may eat
Life's mere coarse bread, the ransom shall be pour'd
In rhymes of gold at thy victorious feet.”

But like Pizarro waiting for his hoard,
Fate gave them chains; and letting them complete
The glittering heap, then drew the strangling cord.