Vainglory

“Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,
Now green in youth, now withering on the ground;”

Then Hektor stooped, and stripped the gilded plate
From Patroklos, whose dust lay down in dust,
Slaughtered by bright Apollo and by Fate;
Man does no more than what he can and must.

A lion, having killed will roar, rejoice
Over the mangled deer, in speed and might
And does not know the warrior hears his voice
Who soon will shroud his eyes in filthy night.

Thus Hektor roared his triumph song above
The body of unblemished Patroklos,
And knew not how Achilles’ violent love
Would bring his aristea to a close.
But Zeus endowed him then with deadly power,
As summer storms will rumble for an hour.

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