The lush rose lingers late.
With unpretending myrtle twine,
Naught else! It fits your brows
Attending me; it graces mine
As I in happy ease carouse
Beneath the thick-leaved vine.[71]
The following ode offers more variety, and is perhaps more representative:
One dazzling mass of solid snow,
Soracte stands; the bent woods fret
Beneath their load, and, sharpest set