Nunc frondent sylvae, nunc formosissimus annus.
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang
Ah whence and whither flown again, who knows?
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RGB: 240 201 184
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RGB: 235 229 207
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RGB: 243 158 165
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RGB: 253 235 195
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RGB: 248 246 208
And the rosebud breaks into pink on the climbing briar,
And the crocus bed is a quivering moon of fire
Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.