St. Valentine's Day
Now that each feather'd chorister doth sing
The glad approaches of the welcome Spring:
Now Phœbus darts forth his more early beam
And dips it later in the curled stream,
I should to custom prove a retrograde
Did I still dote upon my sullen shade.
Oft have the seasons finish'd and begun;
Days into months, those into years have run,
Since my cross stars and inauspicious fate