For ’t is the unholy deed begets the many,Resembling each its dam.Of households that correctly estimate,Ever a beauteous child is born of Fate. But ancient Arrogance delights to generateArrogance, young and strong mid mortals’ sorrow,Or now, or then, when comes the appointed morrow.And she bears young Satiety;And, fiend with whom nor fight nor war can be,Unholy Daring — twin black CursesWithin the household, children like their nurses. But Justice shines in smoke-grimed habitations,And honours the well-omened life;While, — gold-besprinkled stationsWhere the hands’ filth is rife,With backward-turning eyes