Blackening clouds are blocking nighttime's moonrays. Sailors despair that stars don't point the sea-way. Thrace in her warring fury wants the same peace. Persians with fancy quivers pray for that peace. Grosphus, you know it cannot e'er be purchased.
Riches mean nothing.
Wretched confusion wrecks the mind tormented. Trouble on wings weaves wickedly through rafter. Treasure lacks power-not even the lictor Sweeps away worry. Not one thing is ever Totally happy. Quickly did death snatch glorified Achilles.