After dark vapors have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle South, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious month, relieved of its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May;
The eyelids with the passing coolness play
Like rose leaves with the drip of Summer rains.
The calmest thoughts came round us; as of leaves
Budding, fruit ripening in stillness, Autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves,
Sweet Sappho's cheek, a smiling infant's breath
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs
A woodland rivulet, a Poet's death.