A Wreath Of Sonnets (12/14)
Behold how weak and faded they appear!
They have no strength or beauty. Thus the pale
Untended roses in some lonely vale
Midst ruins their sparse heads with sadness rear.
Weeds stifle them, rank nettles interfere,
And scourges, pests their fragile roots assail;
Transplanted to a garden, although frail,
They'll bloom again and gladden with their cheer.
If my poetic flowers in sunlight grew,
They'd live again and freshly thrive ere long
For you, their queen - these blossoms of my song.
To make them more resplendent then, imbue
Their jaded forms with life both fresh and strong!
Send but your rays their glory to renew!
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A Wreath Of Sonnets (1/14)
A Slovene wreath your poet has entwined,
Of fifteen sonnets is the chaplet bound,
And in it thrice the Master Theme must sound:
Thus are the other harmonies combined.
Now from his source like streams in order wind
The sonnets, and the head of each is found
By the last line of the last sonnet crowned;
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