XVIII

But grief returns with the revolving year;

      The airs and streams renew their joyous tone;

      The ants, the bees, the swallows reappear;

      Fresh leaves and flowers deck the dead Season's bier;

      The amorous birds now pair in every brake,

      And build their mossy homes in field and brere;

      And the green lizard, and the golden snake,

Like unimprisoned flames, out of their trance awake.