From Boethius De Consolatione Philosophiae Book II Metre 2

Though countless as the grains of

That roll at Eurus' loud command;

Though countless as the lamps of

That glad us with vicarious light;

Fair plenty, gracious queen, should

The blessings of a golden shower,

Not all the gifts of fate

Would ease the hunger of the mind,

But swallowing call the mighty store,

Rapacity would call for more;

For still where wishes most

Unquench'd the thirst of gain is found;

In vain the shining gifts are sent,

For none are rich without content.