1. On the Apiary of the World
Airborne honeydew sweetens my spirit with a perfume that, by divine decree, hath enticed me to perform these sonnets for thee, my mæstro, Gaius Mæcenas. Study, with grimness, the plight of puny gods – warlords in a daylong dynasty, whose sieges and jihads I must belaud in song. Scant be my labour, but not my reward, if Apollo favours these rhymes. Annex first to the hive, a haven, blind to winds that hinder foragers in flight, then suffer neither yak nor ewe to trek across these meadows, nor oxen to dash away the dew from phloxes and grasses.
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