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348
SONNET.
[Sweet is the blossom'd promise of the spring]
Sweet is the blossom'd promise of the spring,Its pleasant interchange of sun and showers,
Its verdant herbage prank'd with star-like flowers,
The cuckoo's note, the song which thrushes sing;
Sweet too is summer, when the Zephyr's wing
Fans the meridian heat (which else o'erpowers
The fainting soul) and green umbrageous bowers
Of thick-leaved boughs refreshing coolness bring;
But sweeter, to discerning heart and eye,
Is autumn with its fruitage ripe and red,
Its foliage steep'd in many a gorgeous dye,
Its waving cornfields rich in promised bread.—
Such, dearest, is thine autumn;—why should I
Grieve if thy summer, like thy spring, hath fled.
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