HYMN TO THE SUN. GIVER of glowing light! Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy genial rays! King of the tuneful lyre, Still poets' hymns to thee belong; Though lips are cold Whereon of old Thy beams all turn'd to worshipping and song! Lord of the dreadful bow, None triumph now for Python's death; But thou dost save From hungry grave The life that hangs upon a summer breath. Father of rosy day, No more thy clouds of incense rise; But waking flow'rs At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies. God of the Delphic fane, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime; But they will leave On winds at eve, A solemn echo to the end of time. N TO A COLD BEAUTY. I. LADY, wouldst thou heiress be Thou dost still lock up thy heart; Thou that shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow? II. Scorn and cold neglect are made For winter gloom and winter wind, But thou wilt wrong the summer air, Breathing it to words unkind, — Breath which only should belong To love, to sunlight, and to song! III. When the little buds unclose, Red, and white, and pied, and blue, And that virgin flow'r, the rose, Opes her heart to hold the dew, Wilt thou lock thy bosom up With no jewel in its cup? IV. Let not cold December sit Thus in Love's peculiar throne; Brooklets are not prison'd now, But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which hangs upon the It is no snow, but flow'r of May! spray, AUTUMN. I. THE Autumn skies are flush'd with gold, And fair and bright the rivers run; These are but streams of winter cold, And painted mists that quench the sun. II. In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, In secret boughs no bird can shroud; These are but leaves that take to wing, And wintry winds that pipe so loud. III. 'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms That on the cheerless vallies fall, The flowers are in their grassy tombs, And tears of dew are on them all. |