University of Virginia Library

PLEA TO OCTOBER.

Little 'tis I ask of thee,
Season fine and fair,
Lying betwixt the roses lost
And the falling of the frost—
Little for my share.
Fortune has been hard with me;
Thou hast wealth to spare.
Thus my plea, the whole day long:
Shall I call it just a song,
Or shall I call it prayer?

178

What thou wilt, thou may'st withhold,
Till we shall agree.
Lo! thou mak'st the winds that blow
'Twixt the sunflower and the snow
To be sweet with me.
Keep the daffodilly's gold,
Keep the corn and wine;
But some green and grassy nook,
Where to lie and read my book,
Leave, I pray, for mine.
Oh, be kind, be kind to me;
Nor let rough winds blow,
Putting out, with rainy nights,
All the twinkling meadow-lights,
Burning down so low.
Hearts have failed me all the way
Toward the night's dread fall;
Grant that hour, for mercy's sake,
Love enough to keep awake,
Sweetest eyes of all.
I contented am to be
Neither fine nor fair;
Lo! thou rightest me this wrong—
Slight it not for just a song,
But grant it for a prayer.
Friendship may but last a day;
Passion is a spell
Transient as the whirlwind's breath;

179

Grant me love as strong as death—
Ay, indestructible!