Sonnets and Fugitive Pieces :: :: University of Virginia Library

O! honey-throated mourner of the grove!
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love!
The moon is o'er thee—laying out the lawn
In mighty shadows—and the twilight skies,
Imbued with their unutterable dyes,
A thousand hues from Summer sources drawn;
While wandering for the dreams such seasons give
With lonely steps thro' this transcendant scene,
The Poet weeps for joys that fled yestreen
And staid not here to bless this purple eve,
Too lately fled, and brought him here to grieve
In passionate regret for what hath been.