ALAS my friend, how quickly pleasure flies!
Life’s brightest hours the swiftest fade away:
Hope’s distant prospects glad our longing eyes;
We reach them-soon the lovely scenes decay,
Blithe o’er our valleys trips the youthful Spring,
And strews the choicest flow’rets in each glade,
Ere half admir’d again she’s on the wing,
Her blossoms wither, and her sweet flowers fade.
In rich luxuriant beauty Summer comes,
To scatter plenty round-but short her stay;
The mower level lays her varied blooms,
And fast she rolls her fervid car away.
Adorn’d with every milder, softer grace,
(The Muse of Melancholy in her train,)
With sweet, yet pensive smile, and sober pace,
In waning beauty, Autumn treads the plain.
In lonely glens where murmuring riv’lets glide,
With lingering steps she long delights to rove;
Or seeks some fav’rite valley’s sunny side;
And last the fading venerable grove.
Soon must she fly from this her last retreat,
Through the thinn’d grove the sweeping north-wind sighs;
And ceaseless showers her leafy covert beat;
On every side the wither’d foliage flies.
Soon must she yield the empire of the year
To the all-conquering tyrant Winter’s sway;
He comes, and life and beauty disappear;
He comes, and devastation marks his way.
Even now, beyond yon misty mountain’s brow,
Imagination sees his dreadful form,
Arming his furious gales with frost and snow,
And gathering all his demons of the storm.
My drooping spirits sadden at the view;
To joy and pleasure now a long farewell!
To thee, enchanting Poesy, adieu!
Can dreary Winter e’er attune thy shell?
And yet, Maria, there are other joys,
Pleasures, beyond the reach of Winter’s reign
Pleasures, which all his tempests can’t destroy;
The charms of friendship still unchang’d remain.
The smiling circle, innocently gay,
Conven’d at eve around the blazing hearth,
To pass the long and tedious hours away,
In friendly intercourse and social mirth.
In joys like these we still a solace find,
Though Winter’s chilling blasts around us howl,
They cannot freeze the feelings of the mind,
They cannot chain th’ affections of the soul.
Come then, Maria, with your cheerful smiles,
With sprightly wit, and many a pleasant song,
A few dull months assist me to beguile;
The weary season still will be too long.
(Isabella Lickbarrow)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Mind Poems, Soul Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Friendship Poems, Hope Poems, Beauty Poems, Smiling Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Spring Poems, Snow PoemsBased on Keywords: unchang, riv, all-conquering, thinn, conven