On My Birthday, July 21
I, MY dear, was born to-day--So all my jolly comrades say:They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,And ask to celebrate my birth:Little, alas! my comrades knowThat I was born to pain and woe;To thy denial, to thy scorn,Better I had ne'er been born:I wish to die, even whilst I say--'I, my dear, was born to-day.'I, my dear, was born to-day:Shall I salute the rising ray,Well-spring of all my joy and woe?Clotilda, thou alone dost know.Shall the wreath surround my hair?Or shall the music please my ear?Shall I my comrades' mirth receive,And bless my birth, and wish to live?Then let me see great Venus chaseImperious anger from thy face;Then let me hear thee smiling say--'Thou, my dear, wert born to-day.'
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