THE snows have fallen since my eyes were closed
Upon thy downs and pine-woods, genial Bath!
In whose soft bosom my young head reposed,
Whose willing hand shed flowers throughout my path.
The snows have fallen on more heads than mine,
Alas! on few with heavier cares opprest.
My early wreath of love didst thou entwine,
Wilt thou entwine one for my last long rest?