"Twice happy Violets! that first had Birth In the warm Spring, when no frosts nip the Earth; Thrice happy now; since you transplanted are Unto the sweeter Bosome of my Fair. And yet poor Flowers! I pitty your hard Fate, You have but chang’d, not better’d your Estate: What boots it you t’have scap’d cold Winters breath, To find, like me, by Flames a sudden death?"