 | Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman |  |
216
[XVIII. And Change, with hurried hand, has swept these scenes]
And Change, with hurried hand, has swept these scenes:The woods have fallen: across the meadow-lot
The hunter's trail and trap-path is forgot:
And fire has drunk the swamps of evergreens!
Yet for a moment let my fancy plant
These autumn hills again,—the wild dove's haunt,
The wild deer's walk. In golden umbrage shut,
The Indian river runs, Quonecktacut!
Here, but a lifetime back, where falls to-night
Behind the curtained pane a sheltered light
On buds of rose, or vase of violet
Aloft upon the marble mantel set,
Here, in the forest-heart, hung blackening
The wolf-bait on the bush beside the spring.
| Poems by Frederick Goddard Tuckerman | |