On My Birth-Day

I MY dear, was born to day,
So all my jolly comrades say ;
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth :
Little, alas ! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and wo ;
To thy denial, to thy scorn.
Better I had ne'er been born,
I wish to die ev'n whilst I say,
I, my dear, was born to day.
I, my dear, was born to day.
Shall I salute the rising ray ?
Wellspring of all my joy and woe,
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair ?
Or shall the music please my ear ?
Shall I my comrades mirth receive.
And bless my birth, and wish to live ?
Then let me see great Venus chace
Imperious anger from Thy face ;
Then let me hear Thee smiling say,
Thou, my dear, wer't Born to Day.