Speak not too ill of me, Athenian friends! <br />Nor ye, Athenian sages, speak too ill! <br />From others of all tribes am I secure. <br />I leave your confines: none whom you caress, <br />Finding me hungry and athirst, shall dip <br />Into Cephisos the grey bowl to quench <br />My thirst, or break the horny bread, and scoop <br />Stiffly around the scanty vase, wherewith <br />To gather the hard honey at the sides, <br />And give it me for having heard me sing. <br />Sages and friends! a better cause remains <br />For wishing no black sail upon my mast. <br />'Tis, friends and sages! lest, when other men <br />Say words a little gentler, ye repent, <br />Yet be forbidden by stern pride to share <br />The golden cup of kindness, pushing back <br />Your seats, and gasping for a draught of scorn. <br />Alas! shall this too, never lackt before, <br />Be, when you most would crave it, out of reach? <br />Thus on the plank, now Neptune is invoked, <br />I warn you of your peril: I must live, <br />And ye, O friends, howe'er unwilling, may.<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-poet-leaving-athens/
