XXVIII

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XXVIII

To Love all ages lowly bend,

But the young unpolluted heart

His gusts should fertilize, amend,

As vernal storms the fields athwart.

Youth freshens beneath Passion’s showers,

Develops and matures its powers,

And thus in season the rich field

Gay flowers and luscious fruit doth yield.

But at a later, sterile age,

The solstice of our earthly years,

Mournful Love’s deadly trace appears

As storms which in chill autumn rage

And leave a marsh the fertile ground

And devastate the woods around.