These few verses are from the above poem by Sandor Weores described as Epigrams of an Ancient poet. I find it difficult to understand these verses but perhaps they are something about being a poet:
"A red-fingered child pats grey cakes at the seaside,
I ask fo one, he says no, not even for a real cake, no.
Well now, old prophets, what do you want from me? the twenty four
sky-prisms, when I look blind into hearts and read them.
. . .
'You say you're God's offspring: why do you scrape along like paupers?'
'Even Zeus himself, when he takes human steps on earth,
begs bread and water, parched, starved as a tramp.
. . .
Crime has majesty, virtue is holy; but what is the troubled heart worth?
There, crime is raving drunk and virtue is a jailer."