A Roundel seems to fit a round of days
A roundel seems to fit a round of days
Be they the days of upright man or scoundrel:
Allow me to construct then in your praise
A roundel.
[This flower of wit turns out a weed like groundsel:
Yet deign to welcome it, as loftiest bays
Grown on the shore of Girvan's ocean groundswell.]
Accept the love that underlies the lays;
Condone the barbarous rhymes that will not sound well
In building up, all Poets to amaze,
Be they the days of upright man or scoundrel:
Allow me to construct then in your praise
A roundel.
[This flower of wit turns out a weed like groundsel:
Yet deign to welcome it, as loftiest bays
Grown on the shore of Girvan's ocean groundswell.]
Accept the love that underlies the lays;
Condone the barbarous rhymes that will not sound well
In building up, all Poets to amaze,
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