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Happy indeed is the race of winged birds who  need no cloak in winter! Neither do I fear the relentless rays of the fiery dog-days;  when the divine grasshopper, intoxicated with the sunlight, as noon is burning the ground, is breaking out into shrill melody; my home is beneath the foliage in the flowery meadows. I winter in deep caverns, where I frolic with the mountain nymphs, while in spring I despoil  the gardens of the Graces and gather the white, virgin berry on the myrtle bushes.