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God of the Delphic fane, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime;
But they will leave
On winds at eve,
TO A COLD BEAUTY.
LADY, wouldst thou heiress be
To Winter's cold and cruel part ? When he sets the rivers free,
Thou dost still lock up thy heart ;Thou that shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow ?
Scorn and cold neglect are made
For winter gloom and winter wind, But thou wilt wrong the summer air,
Breathing it to words unkind, Breath which only should belong To love, to sunlight, and to song !
When the little buds unclose,
Red, and white, and pied, and blue, And that virgin flow’r, the rose,
Opes her heart to hold the dew,
Let not cold December sit
Thus in Love's peculiar throne: Brooklets are not prison’d now,
But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which hangs upon the spray, It is no snow, but flow'r of May!
The Autumn skies are flush'd with gold,
In secret boughs no sweet birds sing,
"Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms
THE SEA OF DEATH.
Methought I saw
Sad were my thoughts that anchor’d silently
And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep