All that glisters is not gold.Often you have heard that toldMany a man his life hath soldBut my outside to beholdGilded tombs do worms enfold.
All that glisters is not gold.Often you have heard that toldMany a man his life hath soldBut my outside to beholdGilded tombs do worms enfold.
All that glisters is not gold.
His ears up-prick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his compass'd crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he send:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
All that glisters is not gold, Often have you heard that told.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories