Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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Mocks the slow sight, and hides the gloomy skies;
The fleecy clouds their chilly bosoms bare,
And shed their substance on the floating air.
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RGB: 100 102 87
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RGB: 181 172 154
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RGB: 224 112 43
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RGB: 224 213 191
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RGB: 242 238 220
And bright were its flowery banks to his eye;
But far, very far, were the friends that he lov'd,
And he gaz'd on its flowery banks with a sigh.
