THE maples their old sumptuous hues resume Around the woodland pool's bright glass, and strong The year's blue incense and recession-song Sweep over me their music and perfume. Dear Earth, that I reproached thee in my gloom I would forget, as thou forgott'st; I long To make redress for such a filial wrong And praise thee now for all thy ruddy bloom! So fond a mother to be used so ill! Yet this poor heart of mine hath ever been Prey to its own unwarranted alarms— Shall fret, and beg forgiveness so, until Thou fold my thankless body warmly in, And draw me back into thy loving arms. |