Higginson and Bigelow, comps. American Sonnets. 1891.
The Indian SummerHenry Theodore Tuckerman (18131871)
T
Fall not to-day, so light the zephyr’s breath;
O’er Autumn’s sleep now plays the breeze of Spring,
Like love’s warm kiss upon the brow of death:
Serene the firmament, save where a haze
Of dreamy softness floats upon the air,
Or a bright cloud of amber seems to gaze
In wild surprise upon the meadows bare:
Summer revives, and, like a tender strain
Borne on the night-breeze to the wandering ear,
With tender sighs melts Winter’s frosty chain,
And smiles once more upon the dying year:
Thus when we deem Time’s frost has chilled the heart,
At Love’s sweet call its languid pulses start.