O sweet and late!

Where wert thou when the soft June nights
Were faint with perfume, glad with song?
Where wert thou when the days were long
And steeped in Summer's young delights?
What hopest thou now but checks and slights,
Brief days, lone nights?

Stay, there's a gleam of Winter wheat
Far on the hill; down in the woods
A very heaven of stillness broods;
And through the mellow sun's worn heat,
Lo! tender pulses round thee beat,
O late and sweet!



IV.


There's beauty all around our paths, if but our watchful eyes
Can trace it midst familiar things and through their lowly guise;
We may find it when a hedgerow showers its blossoms o'er our way,
Or a cottage window sparkles forth in the last red light of day.

_F. Hemans._

[Illustration]