Frigida vix caelo noctis decesserat umbra, cum ros in tenera pecori gratissimus herba, incumbens tereti Damon sic coepit olivae.
Scarce had nights cool shade left the sky, what time the dew on the tender grass is sweetest to the flock, when, leaning on his shapely olive staff, Damon thus began:
final_alignments\Virgil_Eclogues.json