O happy Tithon! if thou know'st thy hap,
And valuest thy wealth, as I my want,
Then need'st thou not-which ah! I grieve to grant-
Repine at Jove, lull'd in his leman's lap: ...
I dream'd there would be Spring no more,
That Nature's ancient power was lost:
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter'd trifles at the door:
I wander'd from the noisy town,
I found a wood with thorny boughs:
I took the thorns to bind my brows,
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