I saw a man, An old Cilician, who occupied An acre or two of land that no one wanted, A patch not worth the ploughing, unrewarding For flocks, unfit for vineyards; he however By planting here and there among the scrub Cabbages or white lilies and verbena And flimsy poppies, fancied himself a king In wealth, and coming home late in the evening Loaded his board with unbought delicacies.
