Met?（2 / 2）
and grim, surly winter is near?
no, no, the bees humming round the gay roses
proclaim it the pride of the year.
fain would i hide what i fear to discover,
yet long, long, too well have i known;
all that has caused this wreck in my bosom,
is jenny, fair jenny alone.
time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,
nor hope dare a comfort bestow:
come then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,
enjoyment i'll seek in my woe.
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