 | Poems |  |
80
SONNET.
[Winter, though all thy hours are drear and chill]
Winter, though all thy hours are drear and chill,Yet hast thou one that welcome is to me;
Ah! 'tis when day-light fades, and noises still,
And we afar can faintly darkness see;
When, as it seems too soon to shut out day
And thought with the intrusive taper's ray,
We trim the fire, the half-read book resign,
And in our easy chairs at ease recline;
Gaze on the deepening sky, in thoughtful fit,
Clinging to light as loth to part with it:
Then, half asleep, life seems to us a dream,
And magic all the antic shapes that gleam
Upon the walls, by the fire's flickerings made;
And oft we start, surpris'd but not dismay'd.
Ah! when life fades and death's dark hour draws near,
May we as timely muse and be as void of fear!
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