Winter: A Dirge（2 / 2）
than all the pride of may:
the tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,
my griefs it seems to join;
the leafless trees my fancy please,
their fate resembles mine!
thou power supreme, whose mighty scheme
these woes of mine fulfil,
here firm i rest; they must be best,
because they are thy will!
then all i want—o do thou grant
this one request of mine!—
since to enjoy thou dost deny,
assist me to resign.
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