Δαφνη Ευτυχια Αρθουρος

[If this shows up twice, it's because something has gone wrong with the QotD script and I'm posting this manually while I try to figure it out.]

"Fourteen, a sonneteer thy praises sings;
 What magic myst'ries in that number lie!
 Your hen hath fourteen eggs beneath her wings
 That fourteen chickens to the roost may fly.
 Fourteen full pounds the jockey's stone must be;
 His age fourteen - a horse's prime is past.
 Fourteen long hours too oft the Bard must fast;
 Fourteen bright bumpers - bliss he ne'er must see!
 Before fourteen, a dozen yields the strife;
 Before fourteen - e'en thirteen's strength is vain.
 Fourteen good years - a woman gives us life;
 Fourteen good men - we lose that life again.
 What lucubrations can be more upon it?
 Fourteen good measur'd verses make a sonnet."
  -- Robert Burns (b. 1759-01-25, d. 1796-07-21), "A Sonnet upon Sonnets"

[Wishing a safe Burns Night to everyone celebrating -- which, alas, probably means either a very small gathering or a computer-mediated one (e.g. Zoom) for most people. A pale shadow of the kind of proper supper with poetry and music and dancing that I've enjoyed performing at with the Homespun Ceilidh Band (@HomespunCeilidh), but better to stay safe, and still be here to celebrate in style whatever year the pandemic eases up enough to do it right.]