Lines Written at Thorp Green

That summer sun, whose genial

Now cheers my drooping spirit

Must cold and distant be,

And only light our northern

With feeble ray, before the timeI long so much to see.

And this soft whispering breeze that

So gently cools my fevered brow,

This too, alas, must turn —To a wild blast whose icy

Pierces and chills me to the heart,

Before I cease to mourn.

And these bright flowers I love so well,

Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell,

Must droop and die away.

Those thick green leaves with all their

And rustling music, they must

And every one decay.

But if the sunny summer

And woods and meadows in their

Are sweet to them that roam —Far sweeter is the winter

With long dark nights and landscapes

To them that are at Home!