GREY'S the sky and every-day like, And the town still looks afflicted; Ever weak and castaway like, In the Elbe its form's depicted. Long each nose is, and its blowing Tedious an affair as ever; All with pride are overflowing, Both at pomp and cringing clever. Beauteous South! O, how adore I All thy gods, thy sky's sweet blisses, Since these human dregs once more I See, and weather foul as this is! |