Apologia
A hundred blossoms built this honeycomb;
The bee remembers neither tint nor shade.
It is enough,—this golden honeycomb;
Why analyze perfection with a blade?
A poet loved a score of gracious ladies;
His songs and sonnets star the leaves of time;
Why censure his amours with gracious ladies
Who reared a marble edifice of rhyme?
The bee remembers neither tint nor shade.
It is enough,—this golden honeycomb;
Why analyze perfection with a blade?
A poet loved a score of gracious ladies;
His songs and sonnets star the leaves of time;
Why censure his amours with gracious ladies
Who reared a marble edifice of rhyme?
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