"And as in winter time, when Jove his cold sharp jav’lins throws Amongst us mortals, and is moved to white earth with his snows, The winds asleep, he freely pours, till highest prominents, Hill tops, low meadows, and the fields that crown with most contents The toils of men, seaports, and shores, are hid, and ev’ry place, But floods, that snow’s fair tender flakes, as their own brood, embrace; So both sides cover’d earth with stones, so both for life contend, To show their sharpness; through the wall uproar stood up an end."
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The Iliads of Homer (George Chapman)
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