Roses, rooted warm in earth
Bud in rhyme, another age
Lilies know a ghostly birth
Strewn along a patterned page
Golden lad and chimbley sweep
Die; and so their song shall keep
Wind that in Arcadia starts
In and out a couplet plays
And the drums of bitter hearts
Beat the measure of a phrase
Sweets and woes but come to print
Quae c*m ita sint