To Rhodanthe
O nymph! release me from this rich attire!
Take off this crown thy artful fingers wove;
And let the wild-rose linger on the brier
Its last, sweet days, my Love!
For me shalt thou, with thy nice-handed care,
Nought but the simplest wreath of myrtle twine
Such too, high-pouring Hebe's self must wear,
Serving my bower with wine!
Take off this crown thy artful fingers wove;
And let the wild-rose linger on the brier
Its last, sweet days, my Love!
For me shalt thou, with thy nice-handed care,
Nought but the simplest wreath of myrtle twine
Such too, high-pouring Hebe's self must wear,
Serving my bower with wine!
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