The moon has set In a bank of jet That fringes the Western sky, The pleiads seven Have sunk from heaven And the midnight hurries by; My hopes are flown And, alas! alone On my weary couch I lie.
Mere air, these words, but delicious to hear.
No honey for me, if it comes with a bee.
I know not what to do, my mind is divided
Experience shows us Wealth unchaperoned by Virtue is never an innocuous neighbor.
To me the Muses truly gave / An envied and a happy lot: / E'en when I lie within the grave, / I cannot, shall not, be forgot.