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Vanishings

The dark has passed, and the chill Autumn morn
Unrolls her faded glories in the fields;
Dead are the gilded air-hosts newly-born,
The hardiest flowers droop their sodden shields,
For lovely Summer hath cut short her stay —
The fickle goddess, loaded with delight,
Grown wantonly unconstant, fled away
Under a hoar-frost mantle yesternight.
In one brief hour, the warm and flashing skies
Pale in the marble dawn; we cannot choose,
But marvel that hearts turn to stone, and eyes
Brimful of passion all their lustre lose.

Song. From Metastasio

FROM METASTASIO

Believe me, dear girl, when I swear,
Though a stranger you're yet to Love's pain,
There is something too soft in your air,
Too gentle for scorn and disdain:

Though the torments of Love you mayn't know,
Yet cruel you never can prove;
For Pity, though colder than snow,
Is still the forerunner of Love.

Sonnet. To Winter

TO WINTER.

Let happy mortals love the gaudy blooms
That deck the bosom of the laughing Spring,
And, fann'd by her warm breath, profusely fling
To the young gale their delicate perfumes; —
Stern, rugged Winter, thy congenial glooms
A mournful pleasure to that bosom bring,
Where pale Despondence spreads her lurid wing,
Which Fate severe to ceaseless sorrow dooms.

Gay Girl to Good Girl

What is vrtue, when all's done,
Withered breast, shaking knees?
Cold thoughts sitting in the sun,
If it only bring you these?

Men love virtue — so they say,
So they say, but what they do
Kisses half your soul away,
And takes virtue out of you!

When you die, they'll say, " Poor thing! "
When I'm dead, they'll lean above;
One will kiss me, one will bring
A posy for the sake of love.

When we're both dead, gone far hence,
Will it matter what we've been?
On your virtues and my sins
Grass will grow as quick and green.

Heliodore

Who will remember Heliodore?
The nightingales, the nightingales
That sing tonight in vain for thee,
Whose nights no singing shall restore?
The myrtle that in vain has shed
Bloom for thy bridal feet to tread
That wander dim and sunless vales
Far off, too far for love and me?
What music has Persephone,
What golden glade, what balmy grove
To bower sweet birds in lutany?
What lip or lyre speaks low in love,
Where grey ghosts after and before
Weave thee a mournful canopy
Of hemlock and of hellebore?
Is this thy maiden company?

A Night Thought

Long have I gazed upon all lovely things,
Until my soul was melted into song, —
Melted with love, till from its thousand springs
The stream of adoration, swift and strong,
Swept in its ardour, drowning brain and tongue,
Till what I most would say was borne away unsung.

The brook is silent when it mirrors most
Whate'er is grand or beautiful above;
The billow which would woo the flowery coast
Dies in the first expression of its love;
And could the bard consign to living breath
Feelings too deep for thought, the utterance were death!

Songs

" Damon by all the Powers above
" Plighted to me eternal love;
" And as a rose adorn'd my breast,
" He on its leaf the vow imprest;
" But, while the winds did round us play,
" Vow, leaf, and promise blew away. "

For this , when Summer mornings glow,
O! shall I veil their beams in woe;
And 'mid the rosy hours of youth,
Weep and repine o'er vanish'd truth?
No! let me hail the shining day,
Blithe as the lark, that meets its ray.

Beauty, and Health, have joys that prove
Balm for the wounds of slighted Love;

To Wang Lun

I was just
shoving off
in my boat

when I heard
someone stomping
and singing on the shore!

Peach Blossom Lake
is a thousand feet deep

but it can't compare
with Wang Lun's love
or the way he said