Robert Burns - A Sonnet upon Sonnets

Posted by Autumn in

Fourteen, a sonneteer thy praises sings;
What magic myst'ries in that number lie!
Your hen hath fourteen eggs beneath her wings
That fourteen chickens to the roost may fly.
Fourteen full pounds the jockey's stone must be;
His age fourteen--a horse's prime is past.
Fourteen long hours too oft the Bard must fast;
Fourteen bright bumpers--bliss he ne'er must see!
Before fourteen, a dozen yields the strife;
Before fourteen--e'en thirteen's strength is vain.
Fourteen good years--a woman gives us life;
Fourteen good men--we lose that life again.
What lucubrations can be more upon it?
Fourteen good measur'd verses maka a sonnet.

This entry was posted on 24 July 2008 at 02:08 and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .


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