The lips that were so rosy red, At morning and at even-tide! Delightful Summer! then adieu His joy expanding like a flow'r That cometh after rain and snow, Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow: Not he that fled from Babel-strife To the green sabbath-land of life, To dodge dull Care 'mid cluster'd trees, And cool his forehead in the breeze, For every breath to make it dance. Farewell! on wings of sombre stain, That blacken in the last blue skies, Thou fly'st; but thou wilt come again On the gay wings of butterflies. M 2 Spring at thy approach will sprout Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds; His eyes half-open while he slept. Roses shall be where roses were, Not shadows, but reality; As if they never perish'd there, But slept in immortality: Nature shall thrill with new delight, And Time's relumin'd river run Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright, As if its source were in the sun! But say, hath Winter then no charms? Is there no joy, no gladness warms His aged heart? no happy wiles To cheat the hoary one to smiles? Onward he comes from rocks that blanch O'er solid streams that never flow, Within some statue's marble form, No! take him in, and blaze the oak, And pour the wine, and warm the ale; His sides shall shake to many a joke, His tongue shall thaw in many a tale, His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, And even his palsy charm'd away. What heeds he then the boisterous shout Of angry winds that scold without, Like shrewish wives at tavern door? He hears the storm that cannot harm him. But hark! those shouts! that sudden din Of little hearts that laugh within. O! take him where the youngsters play, They come! they come! each blue-ey'd Sport, The Twelfth-Night King and all his court "Tis Mirth fresh crown'd with misletoe! Music with her merry fiddles, Joy "on light fantastic toe," Wit with all his jests and riddles, Singing and dancing as they go. And Love, young Love, among the rest, A welcome nor unbidden guest. But still for Summer dost thou grieve? Then read our Poets they shall weave A garden of green fancies still, Where thy wish may rove at will. The "thoughts that breathe," in words that shine The flights of soul in sunny places To greet and company with thine. These shall wing thee on to flow'rs The past or future, that shall seem The dear one of the lover's heart Is painted to his longing eyes, In charms she ne'er can realize · But when she turns again to part. |