 | Poems (1806) |  |
195
SONNET III.
[Tho' now pale Eve, with many a crimson streak]
Tho' now pale Eve, with many a crimson streakSoft-fading, tips the lime-invested hill;
And though blue steams emerging from the lake
Roll curling on, and hover o'er the rill;
The smoke, that slow evolves its pillar'd form
From yonder straw-roof'd cottage, sweetly throws
O'er my hush'd bosom a superior charm,
And seems to breathe a cherub-like repose!
With its grey column to yon' sapphire cloud
Stealing in stillness the calm mind ascends—
The unruffled line, though lost amid the shroud
Of heaven, in fancy rising never ends!
Thus ever may my tranquil spirit rise—
Free from the gust of passion—to the skies!
P.
| Poems (1806) | |