MY future copy fair my past
On any leaf but heavens. Be fully done,
Supernal ill ! I fain be one
isfying t and breaking fast
Upon t, at last
Saiter meat. My wine h run
Indeed out of my cup, and there is none
to gat
Scattered and trampled ! Yet I find some good
In eartreams t bubble up
Clear from tent until
I sit ter food.
Dear C ! wage fills my cup,
t wine spill.