 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
163
AUTUMNAL REFLECTIONS.
The season of flowers is fled,
The pride of the garden decayed,
The sweets of the meadow are dead,
And the blushing parterre disarrayed.
The pride of the garden decayed,
The sweets of the meadow are dead,
And the blushing parterre disarrayed.
The blossom-decked garb of sweet May,
Enamelled with hues of delight,
Is exchanged for a mantle less gay,
And spangled with colors less bright.
Enamelled with hues of delight,
Is exchanged for a mantle less gay,
And spangled with colors less bright.
For sober Pomona has won
The frolicsome Flora's domains,
And the work the gay goddess begun,
The height of maturity gains.
The frolicsome Flora's domains,
And the work the gay goddess begun,
The height of maturity gains.
But though less delightful to view,
The charms of ripe Autumn appear,
Than Spring's richly varied hue,
That infantile age of the year.
The charms of ripe Autumn appear,
Than Spring's richly varied hue,
That infantile age of the year.
Yet now, and now only, we prove
The uses by Nature designed;
The seasons were sanctioned to move,
To please less than profit mankind.
The uses by Nature designed;
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To please less than profit mankind.
Regret the lost beauties of May,
But the fruits of those beauties enjoy;
The blushes that dawn with the day,
Noon's splendor will ever destroy.
But the fruits of those beauties enjoy;
The blushes that dawn with the day,
Noon's splendor will ever destroy.
How pleasing, how lovely appears
Sweet infancy, sportive and gay;
Its prattle, its smiles, and its tears,
Like spring, or the dawning of day!
Sweet infancy, sportive and gay;
Its prattle, its smiles, and its tears,
Like spring, or the dawning of day!
But manhood's the season designed
For wisdom, for works, and for use;
To ripen the fruits of the mind,
Which the seeds sown in childhood produce.
For wisdom, for works, and for use;
To ripen the fruits of the mind,
Which the seeds sown in childhood produce.
Then infancy's pleasures regret,
But the fruits of those pleasures enjoy;
Does spring autumn's bounty beget?
Lo the Man is begun in the Boy.
But the fruits of those pleasures enjoy;
Does spring autumn's bounty beget?
Lo the Man is begun in the Boy.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |