 | Poems, moral, and descriptive |  |
104
SONNET, WRITTEN ON THE APPROACH OF SUMMER.
Why do yon beauteous beams that streak the Sky,When first young Morning opes her modest eye,
To me, all dark as scowling night appear!
Why, do those ambient greens, no more, impart
Fresh joy, and conscious gladness to my heart,
Or, spring's sweet children charm my alter'd ear?
Ah me! o'er all, 'tis Grief's dull pow'r that throws
A sullen gloom, congenial to my care,
Robs it's rich incense from the op'ning Rose,
And leaves the blossom'd bow'rs of Maia bare;
“Dear Goddess, Nature!” and thou dearer still,
Delightful Fancy! pardon I implore,
With taste, with sympathy, this bosom fill,
And your own sacred love, as once before,
Or, oh! let Pity's streaming eyelid lave
The next pale primrose, springing on—my grave.
| Poems, moral, and descriptive | |