Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn.

Say, is not absence death to those who love?

The garlands fade, the vows are worn away; So dies her love, and so my hopes decay.

Where'er you walk, cool gales shall fan the glade, Trees, where you sit, shall crowd into a shade: Where'er you tread, the blushing flow'rs shall rise, And all…