| Show PRAISE OF DEATH Thon atos thy praise I 1 sins thou immortal youthful kingl glorious offerings I 1 will bring for men say thou bast no shrine and I 1 find thou art divino As no otha r god thy rage doth the golden age what we blame is thy delay cut tho flowers ere they ilecki I 1 come wo woold not derogate aee and nipping pains we hate aalto US al our immix while the head irarra with the crown in the battle strike us at the bride feast do not from thy summons wo shrink we would give our latest kiss to a life still warm with bliss come and take us to the train of dead maidens on the plain where white lilies have no take us to the youths that thou levst to choose of fervid hauw unto whom thy dreaded name hath been simply known as fame with these unpolluted things bo our endless michael field in academy |
