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Normale Version: The Consolation
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The Consolation

't was in that pleasant season, when the year
Bursts into all the beauty of the Spring,
I wandered by the greenwood side, to hear
What requiem to my woe the birds could sing.

“O wherefore com'st without thy mistress dear,
Whose beauty lent such brightness to these bowers?”
My heart was drowned; I answered with a tear
And, hope-deserted, turned me to the flowers:

“Ah, where is she,” they cried, “that lovely one!
Who wreathed us in her hair to make thee smile?”
Mute, I implored the stream. “O let me run
Murmuring beside you both for many a mile!

Bring her again to these sweet banks!” it said:—
And so was soothed my sorrow for the dead.