 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Borderland
I move along the solemn borderlandWhere earth's familiar scenes begin to wear
An autumn sadness, a pathetic air
Of coming change, which old men understand.
The trees put off their green, on either hand,
And frost-touched flowers let fall their petals fair;
While the last swallows, flitting south, declare
That life, like summer, seeks another strand.
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And breathes o'er field and wood a peace sublime,
And decks with softest hues the autumn day;
Bidding me tread this borderland of Time
With soul that answers to her tranquil ray,
And smooths its pinions for a happier clime!
| Lyra Pastoralis | |