The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, October 1909
Quis multa gracilis te, puer, in rosa. . .
What scented stripling thee doth woo
In cosy corner at the dance?
For whom dost thou thy tresses do
So artless in thy elegance?
Laura, how oft will he bewail
Thy fickle faith and fortune's change
And wonder at the sullen gale,
Unused the stormy seas to range?
Who basks now in thy golden sun
And fondly dreams thee ever kind
With heart-room for no other one,
He little knows the treacherous wind.
Poor wretches, they to whom afer
An Eldorado thou dost loom;
For me, I thank my lucky star
That I have just escaped their doom.