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To Clemene, leaving the Country in Autumn.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


59

To Clemene, leaving the Country in Autumn.

From ruin'd Shades, where chilling Breezes rise,
To warmer Climes the fair Clemene flies.
The lovely Spring with blooming Sweets is fled,
Its chearful Greens and gay Productions dead;
And wealthy Summer has resign'd her Throne,
With all the Treasures that around her shone.
Bleak Autumn comes, and with her killing Blasts
From their high Tops the fading Honours casts:
The warbling Birds in fainter Accents sing,
And seem to languish for the distant Spring.
So do I for my lost Clemene mourn,
And pensively implore her wish'd Return:

60

From whose improving Converse I receive,
More Joy than any of the Seasons give.