I Never Prize an Easy Fair Poem by Callimachus

I Never Prize an Easy Fair




The huntsman o'er the hills pursues
The timid hare, and keenly views
The tracks of hinds amid the snow,
Nor heeds the wint'ry winds that blow.
But should a stranger mildly say,
Accept the game I kill'd today;
The proffer'd gift he quickly scorns,
And to th' uncertain chase returns:
Such is my love; I never prize
An easy fair, but her who flies.

Thursday, January 14, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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Callimachus

Callimachus

Cyrene, Ancient Libya
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