L’ENVOI.
’Neath the rainy Equinox,
Flooding her dishevelled locks,
Lies the Summer dead and cold,
With her shroud about her rolled,
Like the drowned Ophelia fair,
Dripping from the oozy mere;
O’er her bleaching corse complain
Sighing winds and chilling rain.
Withered fillets, garlands sere,
Bind her brow and deck her bier—
Urnlike lilies, violets frail,
Faded blossoms of the vale,
Thickly strew her loosened hair.
Sorrowing o’er his daughter fair,
Sadly bends the stricken Year,
To her lips applies his ear;
For the voice which long ago
Cheered him with its music low,
Hearkens he, and for the smile
Wont his dotage to beguile,
Lifts her drooping lids in vain,—
She will never smile again.
Ravished from their mistress pale,
Fly her tresses on the gale;
Driving North winds pipe and rave
Threnodies about her grave.
Bird and leaf forsake the tree—
Sinks to rest the yellow bee;
All his labors in the sun,
All his airy voyages done;
While the squirrel gathers fast
Largess of the bough and blast.