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TO DELIUS.
157
Book II. Ode III.
TO DELIUS.
Firm be thy soul!—serene in power,
When adverse Fortune clouds the sky;
Undazzled by the triumph's hour,
Since, Delius, thou must die!
Alike if still to grief resigned,
Or if through festal days 'tis thine
To quaff, in grassy haunts reclined,
The old Falernian wine:
Haunts where the silvery poplar-boughs
Love with the pine's to blend on high,
And some clear fountain brightly flows
In graceful windings by.
There be the rose, with beauty fraught
So soon to fade, so brilliant now,
