Page:Prometheus bound - Browning (1833).djvu/162

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132
THE AUTUMN.

Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.

Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!

The dearest hands that clasp our hands,—
Their pressure may be o'er:
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!