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A Fragment Farewell the softer hours, Spring's opening blush And Summer's deeper glow, the shepherd's pipe Tuned to the murmurs of a weeping spring, And song of birds, and gay enameled fields,— Farewell! 'T is now the sickness of the year, Not to be medicined by the skillful hand. Pale suns arise that like weak kings behold Their predecessor's empire moulder from them; While swift-increasing spreads the black domain Of melancholy Night;—no more content With equal sway, her stretching shadows gain On the bright morn, and cloud the evening sky. Farewell the careless lingering walk at eve, Sweet with the breath of kine and new-spread hay; And slumber on a bank, where the lulled youth, His head on flowers, delicious languor feels Creep in the blood. A different season now Invites a different song. The naked trees Admit the tempest; rent is Nature's robe; Fast, fast, the blush of Summer fades away From her wan cheek, and scarce a flower remains To deck her bosom; Winter follows close, Pressing impatient on, and with rude breath Fans her discoloured tresses. Yet not all Of grace and beauty from the falling year Is torn ungenial. Still the taper fir Lifts its green spire, and the dark holly edged With gold, and many a strong perennial plant, Yet cheer the waste: nor does yon knot of oaks Resign its honours to the infant blast. This is the time, and these the solemn walks, When inspiration rushes o'er the soul Sudden, as through the grove the rustling breeze.
Anna Laetitia Barbauld's other poems:
Poems of another poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
Количество обращений к стихотворению: 2247
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