And, 'midst the plenitude of flower and bud
Sweet violets hide them in the hilly wood.
II.
I parted with thee one autumnal day
When o'er the woods the northern tempest beat—
The spoils of autumn rustling at our feet
And Nature wept to see her own decay.
The pliant poplar bent beneath the blast
The moveless oak stood warring with the storm
Which bow'd the pensive willow's weaker form