Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 80

     Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son,

     Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire,

     Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire

     Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

     From the hard season gaining? Time will run

     On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire

     The frozen earth, and cloth in fresh attire

     The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.

     What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

     Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise

     To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice

     Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

     He who of those delights can judge, and spare

     To interpose them oft, is not unwise.