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sage muses and ponders with feelings of sorrow
 * On this life and its sin,

By a vase with dim light that gleams, gleams till the morrow,
 * Fed with oil from within.

Crowned with the vervain, hopeful and joyous, and dancing
 * As if ﬂushed with the wine,

Shakes Hymen his fire-showers, the night sombre entrancing
 * With a torch of the pine.

Hovers over the feast, oh, how gracious its motion!
 * The mild lamp of perfume,

Like a galley of gold that sweeps over the ocean,
 * Poop on fire in the gloom!

At the foot of the Quirinal, the tavern throws nightly
 * Its red rays on the lane,

Where cluster low women, brazenfaced and unsightly,
 * In the cold or in the rain.