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Socrates
Although thy pen was silent, mute,
A sea of knowledge dire
In thee the world of yore had seized.
Thy voice was Spirit's fire.
All wealth and ease of the world sublime
Thy deeds were apt to disdain.
Therefore thy spouse, Xantippe,
Was tortured by a ceaseless pain.
Many a foe of giant cloud
Against thy knowledge stood.
But gloom saw its doom in thee,
With thee thy high manhood.
