A Spring Sonnet

Любовная поэзия /
As April with his youthful eyes does gaze
At Nature’s glass and sees himself in flowers,
So I, in my affection, look at thee,
As spring, in her delight, doth your complexion praise,
With her sweet minions in their impish glee
Fight for thy gaze that in my heart excitement raises;
And hoping, all in vain, warm days will never cease
And give the way to wintry wither’d breezes,
I catch thy love and hold thyself in lease:
Thou art my robin caught by nimble birder,
Your feathers art to stir the air no further.
But April wanes, and I, bewitched by cupids
And by thy sweet self ‘tis to myself too cruel,
No longer hear my bird’s worn music.

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