He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, Tormenting himself with his prickles.
Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!
The year's in wane; There is nothing adorning; The night has no eve, And the day has no morning; Cold winter gives warning!
No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief.
My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.
Oh, if it be to choose and call thee mine, love, thou art every day my Valentine!