Samuel Butler

Honor is like a widow, won
With brisk attempt and putting on.

Honor is like a widow, won
With brisk attempt and putting on.

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.

As quick as lightning, in the breach
Just in the place where honour's lodged,
As wise philosophers read more

As quick as lightning, in the breach
Just in the place where honour's lodged,
As wise philosophers have judged,
Because a kick in that place more
Hurts honour than deep wounds before.

His fear was greater than his haste:
For fear, though fleeter than the wind,
Believes 'tis always read more

His fear was greater than his haste:
For fear, though fleeter than the wind,
Believes 'tis always left behind.

And though it be a two-foot trout,
'Tis with a single hair pulled out.

And though it be a two-foot trout,
'Tis with a single hair pulled out.