• 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, relieving from its pains,
    takes as a long-lost right feel of may,
    the eyelids with the passing cooless play,
    like rose leaves with a drip of summer rains.
    The calmest thoughts come round us-as of leaves
    budding,-fruit ripening in stillness,-autumn suns
    smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves,-
    sweet sappho's cheek,-a sleeping infant's breath,-
    the gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs,-
    a woodland rivulet,-a poets death.