1503 3 3
|
Much as the cockerel crows the break of day/ So, too, has our love similar herald,
|
111521
|
When gratitude on lovers' lips rings false/ As flattery by courtly sycophants,/ Take care to well distinguish gold from dross/ So as to gild gladder remembrances.
|
142673
|
Shit, I guess I'm gonna hafta
|
113100
|
With porc’lain hand she writes thy thankless verse/ Like Proserpina, strapped to eb’ny throne,/ Eternally paying the six-month purse/ For hunger once soothed with but seeds alone.
|
149111
|
Oh Triple-Crownéd who evades my sight,/ Guide me down proper crossroads in this life/ As you have promised to grant me your might/ And make of me eternity's fair wife.
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