XXXVII.

The gentle Juan flourished, though at times

He felt like other plants called sensitive,

Which shrink from touch, as Monarchs do from rhymes,

Save such as Southey can afford to give.

Perhaps he longed in bitter frosts for climes

In which the Neva's ice would cease to live

Before May-day: perhaps, despite his duty,

In Royalty's vast arms he sighed for Beauty:

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