Hunt and Lee, comps. The Book of the Sonnet. 1867.
III. Autumn TwilightJohn Hunter
(To ———.)
B
How dear to gaze upon thy deepening skies,
Breathing their balm o’er Autumn’s mellow dyes!
To list the voice of streamlets down the slopes
Of these sweet uplands, and from out yon copse
To catch the thrush’s note, low breathed, like sighs
From Love’s too happy heart, when meeting eyes
Transfuse the mutual soul; and, oft as drops
The pale sear leaf, to muse on change and chance,
Yet feel no fears! How should I, loveliest one!
While thou art with me, and in thy deep glance
I read my future fate, undimmed by woes,
Whose course shall, like this day’s, move gently on,
In varying beauty, to its last calm close?