Ode 59: On Spring
How pleasant 'tis at ease to wander through
The flower-enamelled meads,
Strolling when winds are soft and skies are blue
Whither one's fancy leads.
How sweet, beneath the shadow of the vine
Which tender tendrils wreathes,
With a deep-bosomed maid to sit supine,
Who wholly of Cypris breathes.
The flower-enamelled meads,
Strolling when winds are soft and skies are blue
Whither one's fancy leads.
How sweet, beneath the shadow of the vine
Which tender tendrils wreathes,
With a deep-bosomed maid to sit supine,
Who wholly of Cypris breathes.
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