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In June I give you a close-wooded fell,
With crowns of thicket coiled about its head,
With thirty villas twelve times turreted,
All girdling round a little citadel;
And in the midst a springhead and fair well
With thousand conduits branched and shining speed,
Wounding the garden and the tender mead,
Yet to the freshened grass acceptable.
And lemons, citrons, dates, and oranges,
And all the fruits whose savor is most rare,
Shall shine within the shadow of your trees;
And every one shall be a-lover there;
Until your life, so filled with courtesies,
Throughout the world be counted debonair.