Never the days went short,
But yet it outlaws the insecure.
Like meteors slick for extreme,
And titles have lost their dreams.
I doubted if there oppose me,
Of glittering words on the paper.
But it soon sounds clears,
That they shine when they smile!
Excuse! Yet the utters are not forgiven,
For the mischief, they halted.
For odes have slept in heaven,
Some now do to migrate.
Beg and beg on your feet,
Bend, urge aloof to suspect my own.