University of Virginia Library


212

SUMMER SORROW.

Each season hath its sadness, and for me
Summer not least of all. I know not why,
But though its sylvan beauty soothes my soul
Into delicious reveries; while birds,
Discoursing music, fill my dreamy mind
With melodies, and thoughts, and deep delight,
I never felt before—yet still there lurks
Within my heart a strange unfathomed grief,
Which, even amidst harsh Autumn's ravages,
Or grim old Winter's storms, I rarely feel.