Hilltop: A Literary Paper. Volume 1 Number 1
Some have said: This was the fortunate one
Whom nature loved so, she could refuse
Him nothing. Born under a fruitful planet
He in his cradle tamed great dragons;
Later dug up the rainbow's gold;
And when he turned his hand to puppet-show
Made statues weep and clay birds fly.
No. He and Nature were sworn enemies—
Uneasy friends at best.
Say rather: Reared in Stratford, starved London,
Botched every trade—till tired of tavern laughter,
Time's anguish and the ignominy of man,
He colonised a state of near-despair
And ruled it with a kingly hand.