O Winter, Ruler Of The

Absence From Whom We Love Is Worse Than Death, And Frustrates Hope Severer Than Despair.

O Winter, Ruler Of The Inverted Year!

What Is It But A Map Of Busy Life, Its Fluctuations, And Its Vast Concerns?

I Will Venture To Assert, That A Just Translation Of Any Ancient Poet In Rhyme Is Impossible. No Human Ingenuity Can Be Equal To The Task Of Closing Every Couplet With Sounds Homotonous, Expressing At The Same Time The Full Sense, And Only The Full Sense Of His Original.

Happy The Man Who Sees A God Employed In All The Good And Ills That Checker Life.