Though the covetous grown wealthy
See his piles of gold rise high;
Though he gather store of treasure
That can never satisfy;
Though with pearls his gorget* blazes,
Rarest that the ocean yields;
Though a hundred head of oxen
Travail in his ample fields;
Ne’er shall carking† care forsake him
While he draws this vital breath,
And his riches go not with him,
When his eyes are closed in death.
–Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, Book III, Song III. (translation by H.R. James)
*a covering for the throat or a covering around the neck, †burdensome
Posted by Russell Holden 
while today 