The Consolation of Philosophy

by Boethius

Book II.

Song II. Man's Covetousness.

What though Plenty pour her gifts
  With a lavish hand,
Numberless as are the stars,
  Countless as the sand,
Will the race of man, content,
Cease to murmur and lament?

Nay, though God, all-bounteous, give
  Gold at man's desire —
Honours, rank, and fame — content
  Not a whit is nigher;
But an all-devouring greed
Yawns with ever-widening need.

Then what bounds can e'er restrain
  This wild lust of having,
When with each new bounty fed
  Grows the frantic craving?
He is never rich whose fear
Sees grim Want forever near.


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