Ye Venuses and Cupids mourn,
Ye whom the graces most adorn.
Come, and your tears of sorrow shed:
My Lesbia's little bird is dead—
Ye whom the graces most adorn.
Come, and your tears of sorrow shed:
My Lesbia's little bird is dead—
A diverse collection of poems I like.
When sorrow round thy heart is stealing,
Deep pain that will not be gainsaid,
Seek not in haunts of men for healing,
But to the forest turn for aid.