This page has been validated.
If there be one among the Muses nineLoves not so much Completion as the Will,And less the austere saint than the fond sinner:Loves scanty ruins, garlanded with years,Better than lofty palaces entire:To her I dedicate this spoiléd sheafOf rime that scarcely came to harvesting.
There is a window here in MagdalenComposite, methinks, of fragments that stark MarsHas scattered. Even so my verses beComposite of memories and half-uttered dreamsWelded together sans due ordinance,Which might have been far other, but that MarsScattered and harried them with his ruthless flail.
11
