SWEET is the hour when Contemplation strays
O’er breezy woodland, or low-winding dell,
List’ning the wild wave’s slow-returning swell,
Which o’er the rock in length’ning murmur plays,
While in the east chill Twilight’s dusky rays
On the green bosom of the landscape dwell.
Yet, can such scenes the gloomy thought dispel,
Or lead the fancy from reflection’s maze ?
Will MEMORY bring no agonizing truth
To dim the fairy visions of past joy;
Scatt’ring the blooming roses of our youth
With many a thorn, our rapture to destroy ?
Will she not picture those we once have lov’d,
To whom the magic TWILIGHT HOUR was dear;
With whom conversing we have fondly rov’d,
And mark their absence with a silent tear ?
Or, as the night-breeze rises on the wave,
In melancholy murmurs sad and deep,
Will not fond MEMORY ponder o’er the grave
Where some lost parent, or lov’d friend, may sleep ?–
Yet, Twilight, come ! And teach my pensive mind
This mild example to receive from thee;
Like thy last cheerful hour be mine ,–resign’d,
And, meekly fading, yield to Fate’s decree !
(Mary Elizabeth Robinson)
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Based on Topics: Joy & Excitement Poems, Friendship Poems, Past Poems, Fairy Poems, Parents PoemsBased on Keywords: scatt, rov, night-breeze, slow-returning