 | Poetical remains (1872) |  |
Sonnet.
[Ye gales, that gently soothe the smiling sky]
Ye gales, that gently soothe the smiling sky,And, stealing from the flow'rs their nectar'd dews,
In many a wanton blandishment diffuse
The balmy shower of odours, as ye fly;
Ye verdant vales, ye springs that murmur by,
Fit haunts, which amorous sorrow well might choose.
Who bade so oft your echoes to my muse?
Each hope, each fear, that ruled the song, reply.
Those conscious echoes I no more to tales
Of tender woe shall wake: since o'er my mind
Again firm reason holds her calm control.
Yet, though no more to lonely grief resigned
I wander here to weep, not less my soul
This cool, these murmurs loves, and verdant vales.
| Poetical remains (1872) | |