XIV.

So thro' the dark, impending sky,

Where clouds, and fallen vapours roll'd,

Their curling wreaths dissolving fly

As the faint hues of light unfold--

The air with spreading azure streams,

The sun now darts his orient beams--

And now the mountains glow--the woods are bright--

While nature hails the season of delight.

Poems (1786), Volume I. · 第 59 / 145 题