Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 46

          My thoughts hold mortal strife;

          I do detest my life,

          And with lamenting cries

          Peace to my soul to bring

     Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:

     —But he, grim grinning King,

     Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,

     Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,

     Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.