The following was not published in Howard’s lifetime, and there is no certain date of its composition, most likely being composed between 1928 and 1932.

Sourced from Bran Mak Morn, The Last King, Del Rey, 2005

“How can I wear the harness of toil

And sweat at the daily round,

While in my soul forever

The drums of Pictdom sound?"

Howard was obsessed with how much less vibrant, how lifeless, how deathly pale, the business of getting by in the modern world was, compared to the world of his ancestors, which he never fantasized as idyllic or blessed as do most of those inclined to anachronistic fantasy. Nowhere is his belief that a man’s life in his bloodline once meant more than it did in his time, more heartfelt and driven than in these four lines.