Let there be wealth without tears; enough for the wise man who will ask no further. - Aeschylus

I pray the gods will give me some relief
And end this weary job. One long full year
I've been lying here, on this rooftop,
The palace of the sons of Atreus,
Resting on my arms, just like a dog.
I've come to know the night sky, every star,
The powers we see glittering in the sky,
Bringing winter and summer to us all,
As the constellations rise and sink.

Thus he died, and all the life struggled out of him;
and as he died he spattered me with the dark red
and violent driven rain of bitter-savored blood
to make me glad, as gardens stand among the showers
of God in glory at the birthtime of the buds.

On me the tempest falls. It does not make me tremble. O holy Mother Earth, O air and sun, behold me. I am wronged.