 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
SONNET.
How like Divinity this soft, still eve!The sun of Autumn, like a god, is setting,
And, oh, the beauty tempts me to forgetting
Those giant ills that long have made me grieve.
Bright angels seem reposing on yon verge
Of billowy light, and from their airy wings,
Fanning infinity, a perfume springs,
Like cherub breathings. The low lulling surge,
Breaking far o'er the shelly beach—the deep
Soft music of the groves—the whirl and rush
Of dropping sere leaves and the trickling gush
Of rivulets that from the brown cliffs leap—
This dying loveliness melts all my woes,
And hallows sorrows death alone can close!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |