Classic Poem

Gone are the gray mists, Chrysilla, of morning,
Long have we heard chanticleer's jealous cry,
Sending to lovers his message of warning,
Herald of envious dawn in the sky.

Curses upon thee, thou creature remorseless,
Thou shalt not banish me thus from my bliss;
Back to my comrades so dull and resourceless,
Chattering ever of that or of this.

Nay but, Tithonus, thy vigour is waning;
Why dost thou drive fair Aurora away?
Still it is early: thy manhood regaining,
Give one hour more to your marital play.