'POEMS�or, grant that tyrants frown, sweet childhood ! 'on thy reigo, And a spirit, touch'd too finely, tums all thei?_frowns .to pain, Th.e secret ofthy joy their surest arrows miss, 'Tis innocenee? that makes thy freshness and thy bliss. Perhaps he mourns thee !ess, to whom thy mirth and play Were as the shining lapse of one long summer-day; 'More lovely seem the wreaths, that bloom on ruin'd ' towers, And brightest is the blue sky seen, when it serifs thunder-showers. 0 Memory, on my couch--when the w[nd's wild fingers grasp, With the fury of a Rend, the rattling window-clasp-- Rock'd to thy dreams, reclin'd with sleepless eye, I talk with thee, at midnight, of the days that are gone byl.. And, when the clouds of Autumn, in their wildness as they ?o11, With feeling, thought, and poeray, imbue/ay inmost I see thee iu the cloud, I hear thee iu the blast, And muse myself to m?dness o'er the times for ever past. ......... .?Google
�
