So unimportant! Now that they are gone, The leaves once intertwined, the blossoms all! Summer dethroned her starry ways along -- That this should be is nothing to appal! Another year, no doubt, as heretofore Will re-enkindle the desirous bough; Summer return, in no way different more Than that preceding her departure now. Shall I then tempt the unproductive year When better fruit, or more, in time may be? Rather would I the Winter, cold, austere, A later harvest bring, than immaturity Pluck now such fruit as bitter aloes bear When first the sense is taken unaware. |