Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 387, August 28, 1829 - Various - Страница 2

I met thee, –, when the leaves were green

And living verdure clothed the countless trees

When meadow flowers allured the summer bees

And silvery skies shone o'er the cloudless scene

Bright as my thoughts when wand'ring to thy home

Where Nature looks as though she were divine

Not in the richness of the rip'ning vine

Not in the splendour of imperial Rome.

It is a ruder scene of rocks and trees

Where even barrenness is beauty—where

The glassy lake, below the mountain bare

Curls up its waters 'neath the casual breeze

And, 'midst the plenitude of flower and bud

Sweet violets hide them in the hilly wood.

I parted with thee one autumnal day

When o'er the woods the northern tempest beat—

The spoils of autumn rustling at our feet

And Nature wept to see her own decay.

The pliant poplar bent beneath the blast

The moveless oak stood warring with the storm

Which bow'd the pensive willow's weaker form

And naught gave token that thy love would last

Save the mute eloquence of forcing tears

Save the low pleading of thy ardent sighs

The fervent gazing of thy glowing eyes

A firm assurance, spite of all my fears

That, as the sunshine dries the summer rain

Thy future smile should bless for parting pain.