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Dream thou then, and bind thy brow
With wreath of fancy roses now,
And drink of Summer in the cup

Where the Muse hath mix'd it up;

The "dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirth,"

With the warm nectar of the earth:

Drink! 'twill glow in every vein,

And thou shalt dream the winter through :

Then waken to the sun again,

And find thy Summer Vision true!



A LAKE and a fairy boat

To sail in the moonlight clear,——
And merrily we would float

From the dragons that watch us here!

Thy gown should be snow-white silk,
And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipp'd in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!

Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dow'r
But Fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its pow'r!

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I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn;
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright
With tangled gossamer that fell by night,
Pearling his coronet of golden corn.


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Where are the songs of Summer?
Oping the dusky eyelids of the south,

Till shade and silence waken up as one,

And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth.

With the sun,

Where are the merry birds?

Away, away,

On panting wings through the inclement skies,

Lest owls should prey

Undazzled at noon-day,

And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.


Where are the blooms of Summer? - In the west,
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours,
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest
Like tearful Proserpine, snatch'd from her flow'rs

To a most gloomy breast.

Where is the pride of Summer, the green prime,
The many, many leaves all twinkling? — Three
On the moss'd elm; three on the naked lime
Trembling, and one upon the old oak tree!
Where is the Dryad's immortality? -
Gone into mournful
and dark yew,
Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through

In the smooth holly's green eternity.


The squirrel gloats on his accomplish'd hoard,

The ants have brimm'd their garners with ripe grain,

And honey bees have stor'd

The sweets of Summer in their luscious cells; The swallows all have wing'd across the main; But here the Autumn melancholy dwells,

And sighs her tearful spells

Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain.
Alone, alone,

Upon a mossy stone,

She sits and reckons up the dead and gone
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the wither'd world looks drearily,
Like a dim picture of the drowned past
In the hush'd mind's mysterious far away,
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last
Into that distance, grey upon the grey.


O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded
Under the languid downfal of her hair :
She wears a coronal of flowers faded
Upon her forehead, and a face of care;
There is enough of wither'd every where

To make her bower, and enough of gloom;

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