Sonnet

After dark vapours have oppress’d our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle South, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains,
The anxious month, relieved of its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May;
The eyelids with the passing coolness play
Like rose leaves with the drip of summer rains.
The calmest thoughts come round us; as of leaves
Budding – fruit ripening in stilness – autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves –
Sweet Sappho’s cheek – as smiling infant’s breath –
The gradual sand that through an hourglass runs –
A woodland rivulet – a Poet’s death.

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