An Autumnal Thought
It is most meet and natural the sigh
Man heaves, when autumn's winds come wild and drear,
When the last lingering blossoms droop and die,
And whirl the shrivelled blossoms red and sear.
Returning spring, indeed, shall deck the year
With flowers and foliage rich as e'er she gave;
But these shall never, never re-appear!
These never more in gales of summer wave,
Adorn the woodland path, or scent the mountain cave.
All things are mutable. The strain we heard
In yon deep dell, is silent now — and May
Shall wake another strain, another bird;
Dead is the former tenant of the spray—
Gone with the leaves and flowers that green and gay
Concealed their songster! Yet fond man believes
The world of yesterday the same to-day;
And when he grieves at all, he only grieves
That in their blight his own he feelingly perceives.
Yet their blight is not his. They rise no more:
But man shall rise triumphant from the tomb!
The judgment-morn shall once again restore
The human-flowers death blighted — to resume
In fairer climes far more than former bloom!
And that high bloom no future blight shall fear,
But flourish still where heaven's own beams illume,
And dews supernal water it! No tear
Shall stain the happy cheek in that eternal year!
~~
Robert Story (1795-1860)
from Newcastle Magazine, December 1829
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
Robert Story biography
No comments:
Post a Comment