 | Poems |  |
AN AUTUMN SONG.
Lime—golden lime!
Bright burst thy greenness forth to April's tearful wooing,
Throng'd of the booming bee in verdurous summer's prime;
Ah! sere and shrivelling now, the miry way 'tis strewing,
Lime—golden lime!
Bright burst thy greenness forth to April's tearful wooing,
Throng'd of the booming bee in verdurous summer's prime;
Ah! sere and shrivelling now, the miry way 'tis strewing,
Lime—golden lime!
Lime—golden lime!
What though thy parting leaves the wailing winds are calling,
What though to sereness all hath changed thy vernal prime,
Why should we mourn that fast thy golden glory's falling,
Lime—golden lime!
What though thy parting leaves the wailing winds are calling,
What though to sereness all hath changed thy vernal prime,
Why should we mourn that fast thy golden glory's falling,
Lime—golden lime!
277
Lime—golden lime!
Yes—thou in thought shalt come when gloomy gusts are shrilling
Along the wan wide snows in winter's hueless time,
The chill and pallid day with autumn glory filling,
Lime—golden lime!
Yes—thou in thought shalt come when gloomy gusts are shrilling
Along the wan wide snows in winter's hueless time,
The chill and pallid day with autumn glory filling,
Lime—golden lime!
| Poems | |