To spring belongs the violet, and the blown br Spice of the roses let the summer own. br Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold-- br That I may not write verse when I am old. br br And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time! br Be not too ready to deny me rhyme; br And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse, br I beg you very gently break the news.