The Legend of Genevieve :: :: University of Virginia Library

In Spring I visited this spot;
A thousand herbs and flowers were blooming;
And eglantine o'erhung this grot,
Mild April's balmy breeze perfuming;
The primrose open'd to the sun;
And languidly the daffodillies
Reclining bashful had begun
To smile beneath the sprouting lilies.

I came in Summer—shrub and flower,
Though changed in hue, were still before me;
Twas cloudless noon, I sought the flower
That threw its welcome shadows o'er me;

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And, as I rested on its seat,
Absorb'd in silent meditation,
The bee was treasuring liquid sweet,
From the bosom of the soft carnation.

Again I come to view the scene,
Whose summer hues I well remember;
'Tis stripp'd of pride, 'tis shorn of green,
Beneath the rude sway of November!
The melody of song is mute,
Except the robin's lonely singing:
The trees have shed their leaves and fruit,
And weeds in every walk are springing.

The morn is cold; the sky is pale,
The winds no more are silence keeping;
Like childhood at a mournful tale,
O'er vanish'd bloom the flowers are weeping;
I look upon the sullen sky—
It wanes as when a daughter's duty,
Stay'd by a tyrannous father's eye,
Opposes love, and withers beauty.

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All—all is changed, as if Simoom
Had pass'd with withering magic over!
No trace of beauty or of bloom
Can sense perceive or eye discover;
But wild, and waste, and desolate,
A wilderness is stretch'd around me;
And where, 'mid summer's smiles I sate,
November's wintry breeze hath found me.

The lilac boughs are tinged with red;
The yellow leaves profusely lying:
The flowers have bent or bend the head;
The latest of the train are dying.
Hark! 'tis the voice of Nature cries—
“Shall Pride and Passion vanquish Reason?
Will man be never—never wise!
Heaven is his home, and life a season.”