A thought on such one's life.
Tomes, scrolls, papyrus, stones,
Containers of knowledge unknown;
Cuneiforms, call'graphy, runes,
Labyrinths, caves, enchanted tombs,
From all this is craved the truth;
Days and nights 'neath silent ruins,
Extended times in dust-made fumes;
Shouts of joy from presumption's room,
Dreams of chests and good stores to loot;
So pass days as he stays to look.
Will he scorn how much time it took?