Perceiv'st thou not the process of the year, DRYDEN. O Winter! ruler of th' inverted year, COWPER. Truth bids me look on men as autumn leaves, And all they bleed for, as the summer's dust Driven by the whirlwind. YOUNG. Autumn, thrice happy time, Best portion of the various year, in which Nature rejoiceth, smiling on her works, Lovely, to full perfection wrought. PHILIPS. And winter, lingering, chills the lap of spring. GOLDSMITH. Spring has come with a smile of blessing, Kissing the earth with her soft warm breath, Till it blushes in flowers at her gentle caressing, And wakes from the winter's dream of death. Dear angel! that blowest with breath of glad ness The trump to waken the year in its grave, Shall we not hear, after death's deep sadness, A voice as tender to gladden and save? "ATLANTIC MONTHLY." Lo, Winter comes, and all his heralds blow Their gusty trumpets, and his tents of snow Usurp the fields from whence sad Autumn flies, Autumn that finds a southern clime or dies. The streams are dumb with woe; the forest grieves, Wailing the loss of all its summer leaves: Then flings her empty arms into the air, Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep Yet shall the smile of social love repay CAMPBELL. See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, Sullen and sad, with all his rising train; Vapors, and clouds, and storms. THOMSON. |