22.07.2007, 13:34
That I so slenderly set forth my mind,
Writing I wot not what in ragged rhymes,
And charg'd with brass into these golden times,
When others tower so high, am left behind;
I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred cell
To bind my brows with fresh Aonian bays;
Let them have that who tuning sweetest lays
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe's well;
Nor yet to Venus' tree do I aspire,
Sith she for whom I might affect that praise,
My best attempts with cruel words gainsays,
And I seek not that others me admire.
Of weeping myrrh the crown is which I crave,
With a sad cypress to adorn my grave.
Writing I wot not what in ragged rhymes,
And charg'd with brass into these golden times,
When others tower so high, am left behind;
I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred cell
To bind my brows with fresh Aonian bays;
Let them have that who tuning sweetest lays
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe's well;
Nor yet to Venus' tree do I aspire,
Sith she for whom I might affect that praise,
My best attempts with cruel words gainsays,
And I seek not that others me admire.
Of weeping myrrh the crown is which I crave,
With a sad cypress to adorn my grave.