Poems | ||
SONNET II.
Once more the tardy progress of the springBrings round, beloved, our betrothal day,
Rich heretofore in all the sweets which May
Did from her teeming lap, prolific, fling;
But now the lingering Zephyr's crippled wing
Thro' boughs all bare and blossomless doth stray,
And scarce have winter's hoar-frosts pass'd away,
Or vernal birds begun as yet to sing.
But let the laggard and distemper'd year
Frown as it lists;—we two have sunshine still,
Warming with love sweet wedlock's atmosphere;
And many a bubbling fount and sparkling rill
Of joy and peace makes music sweet and clear
For us, scarce yet descending life's steep hill.
1838.
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