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 Woe; To Thy Denial, To Thy Scorn, Better I Had Ne'er Been Born: I Wish To Die, Even Whilst I Say 'I, My Dear, Was Born To-Day.' I, My Dear, Was Born To-Day: Shall I Salute The Rising Ray, Well-Spring 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 Chase Imperious Anger From Thy Face; Then Let Me Hear Thee Smiling Say 'Thou, My Dear, Wert Born To-Day.'