Rightly do bad men call my name Odysseus,
For ill folk odious insults heap upon me.
Even in words there is a pleasure, when
They bring forgetfulness of present woes.
'Tis better not to be than to live badly.
When toil has been well finished, toils are sweet.
Enslave the body—still the soul is free.
The oaths of women I on water write.
O mortals, wretched creatures of a day,
How truly are we naught but like to shadows
Rolling superfluous weight of earth around!
Take courage, lady: many fearful things
That breathed dark dreams in night, by day are solaced.
What may be taught, I learn; what may be found,
I seek; from heaven I ask what may be prayed for.