Or mark the springing grass--or gaze upon
Primeval morning till the hues of gold
Blaze forth and centre in the glorious sun!
Whose gentler beams exhale the tears of night,
And bid each grateful tongue deep melodies indite.
SUMMER.
Now is thy fragrant garland made complete,
Maturing year! but as its many dyes
Mingle in rainbow hues divinely sweet,
They fade and fleet in unobserved sighs!
Yet now all fresh and fair, how dear thou art,
Just born to breathe and perish! touched by heaven,
From lifeless Winter to a beating heart,
From scathing blasts to Summer's balmy even!
Methinks some angel from the bowers of bliss,
In May descended, scattering blossoms round,
Embraced each opening flower, bestowed a kiss,
And woke the notes of harmony profound;
But ere July had waned, alas, she fled,
Took back to heaven the flowers, and left the falling leaves instead.
AUTUMN.
Field flowers and breathing minstrelsy, farewell!
The rose is colourless and withering fast,
Sweet Philomel her song forgets to swell,
And Summer's rich variety is past!
The sear leaves wander, and the hoar of age
Gathers her trophy for the dying year,
And following in her noiseless pilgrimage,
Waters her couch with many a pearly tear.
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