 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
38
SONNET.
'Tis Autumn, and my steps have led me farTo a wild hill, that overlooks a land
Wide-spread and beautiful. A single star
Sparkles new-set in heaven. O'er its bright sand
The streamlet slides with mellow tones away;
The West is crimson with retiring day,
And the North gleams with its own native light.
Below, in autumn green, the meadows lie,
And through green banks the river wanders by,
And the wide woods with autumn hues are bright:
Bright—but of fading brightness!—soon is past
That dream-like glory of the painted wood;
And pitiless decay o'ertakes, as fast,
The pride of men, the beauteous, great, and good.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |