Peaceful wealth, or painful toil,
Chance of war, or civil broil,
'Tis not for man's feeble race
These to shun, or those embrace.
But that all-disposing Fate
Which presides o'er mortal state,
Where it listeth, casts its shroud
Of impenetrable cloud.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem