She was the first always to declare Spring:

Fortune Shone bright in her as Summer approached.

Fought for years; with no effort to see any seasons

she conquered the palace of Ice, to wit:

We ran into the depths of Earth - six feet no more;

She prepared a bed of Roses even Attila refused,

Scourge of God here for my bleeding heart,

Spite of her many loves, Men loved her the same;

pale ray of good fortune on this heart, one beat less,

Met scoffing and blame with thunders of Fall - one leaf less.

When we erred, they gave her pity for Winter has come - one life less,

But me -- only pain - no more or less.