A  young soul......
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A young soul in my ageing body plays, Though time’s sharp blades my weary visage raze.

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Hard biter in a toothless mouth is she, The will may wane, but she a winner stays.

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Spare me to win glory’s forbidden prize, Glory in hardship, sloth in comfort lies.

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Me’nonce is not with cheap comfort bought, Hear the honey gate’errs bee-stung cries

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No indolent dreaming dawdler am I, Nor am content, while riches I descry


A young soul .........



Life’s heaving tides of woe shall spare me not, Unless I, its unblocked courses defy

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Softly do town girls their faces adorn, But Bed are from garish colors shorn.

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Town beauty is with pampered softness sought, The Bed are with unsought beauty born.

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Grave harm have lovers to themselves done, Loving, ere understanding life begun.

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They, with with’erred and wasted souls, After vile, though pretty-faced creatures run.

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Beauty’full women, as experienced men know, Are but darkness wrapped in dazzling light aglow.

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A life of Fri.’loss youth and worried age, Its futile course to futile death will flow

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When my hands from brimming cups weakly shook, I awoke, ere sense my wined mind forsook.


 A young soul..........


Shunning choice wines, as rich as purest gold, I, of spring showers sill’ray draught partook.

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Secrets I keep no companion can discern, Nor to it can wine its potent way burn.

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Soft women I have for an hour, and then, Deserts I roam, never more to return.

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Courage to reason second place must take, For velour should not balanced judgment shake.

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But if both in a hard soul united are, Then Glory’s realms their own demesne shall make.

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Defiantly live, or in honor die, Midst slashing blades and banners flapping high

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Rage is best dispatched by lances’ points, and Spearing spiteful chests shall their spite deny.

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Face with cool, carefree calm life’s careworn climes, As long as your soul with its body chimes.

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Your joys of yore have passed beyond recall, And sadness can summon not bygone times.

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A charger’s saddle is an exalted throne, The best companions are books alone.

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Without hardship everyone would prevail, The generous are poor, and courage kills its own.


A young soul........


One’s ill-conduct brooding mistrust will breed, For dark thoughts on darker suspicions feed.

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Island’ring friends with what foes have slandered one, Thus in black nights of doubt one’s life will lead.

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Fie’ray rashness may as velour be seen, And nervous anger may cowardice mean.