Carven ivory have I noneNo golden cornice in my dwelling shines;Pillars choice of Libyan stoneUpbear no architrave from Attic mines;'Twas not mine to enter inTo Attalus' broad realms, an unknown heir,Nor for me fair clients spinLaconian purples for their patron's wear.Truth is mine, and Genius mine;The rich man comes, and knocks at my low door:Favour'd thus, I ne'er repine,Nor weary out indulgent Heaven for more:In my Sabine homestead blest,Why should I further tax a generous friend?Suns are hurrying suns a-west,And newborn moons make speed to meet their end.You have hands to square and hewVast marble-blocks, hard on your day of doom,Ever building mansions new,Nor thinking of the mansion of the tomb.