BOSI – Growl, my Bósi, never bite better heed this warning! Or someone, turning snappish, migh smash your jaw some morning. And never join the gibing pack of gentlefolk that flatters until a man has turned his back, then tears his name to tatters.
ON NEW YEAR’S DAY – Thus the years open, each of them in turn, endlessly blooming flowers of transiency. Their ceaseless passing is of no concern, for time no longer means a thing to me. I have a treasure of eternal worth: a guardian heart which, girded against harm, gazes on heaven but is content with earth, and views the threatening fog without alarm. “Always be tough!” they tell me. “Hold your own!” But I would rather live and feel and see, even when this earns me men’s antipathy, than be a hollow half-decayed sheepbone, hidden by pack-train boys in piles of stone, stuffed full of slander and obscenity.
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