Song LV., p.307.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

AS charming Clara walk’d alone, 

The feather’d snow came softly down, 

Like Jove descending from his tower, 

To court her in a silver shower: 

The shining flakes flew to her breasts, 

As little birds into their nests; 

But being outdone with whiteness there, 

For grief dissolv’d into a tear; 

Thence flowing down her garment’s hem, 

To deck her froze into a gem. 

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