The snow is fled: the trees their leaves put on,The fields their green:Earth owns the change, and rivers lessening runTheir banks between.Naked the Nymphs and Graces in the meadsThe dance essay:“No 'scaping death” proclaims the year, that speedsThis sweet spring day.Frosts yield to zephyrs; Summer drives out Spring,To vanish, whenRich Autumn sheds his fruits; round wheels the ring,—Winter again!Yet the swift moons repair Heaven's detriment:We, soon as thrustWhere good Aeneas, Tullus, Ancus went,What are we? dust.Can Hope assure you one more day to liveFrom powers above?You rescue from your heir whate'er you giveThe self you love.