SONNET IV.
Oh! in these colored shades it were too blest
To roam with thee the hill-side and the plain,
When in each passing moment we retain
The moral of the great truth here impressed.
See! how the woods in green and gold are dressed,
As if apparelled for a conqueror's reign;
Nor less yon maple groves, whose blood-red stain
Trickles far down the distant mountain's crest.
Gorgeous October! in thy golden gleam
I see the tender light of loving eyes,
Which to thy sweet days give an added beam;
Nor would it be to me a vain surprise,
If sometimes thy low-whispering winds should seem
To be the music of her tender sighs.