152
LINES.
T is a morn in Autumn time,A morn to me most dear,
Though Spring's first bloom has passed away,
And Summer flowers are sere.
But though the year's green youth is gone,
Yet, o'er her matron brow,
This one bright hour to me can shed
A light unknown till now.
Yet, o'er her matron brow,
This one bright hour to me can shed
A light unknown till now.
And wherefore? Dearest! thou canst tell
Why glad should be the day
That first beheld thy dawn of life,
Thy being's opening ray.
Why glad should be the day
That first beheld thy dawn of life,
Thy being's opening ray.
For since together we have trod
Our mingled pathway here,
This morn has ever seemed to me
The brightest of the year.
Our mingled pathway here,
This morn has ever seemed to me
The brightest of the year.
And yet, sometimes a gentle shade
Will steal across that sky,
Blent of the future and the past,
Of hope and memory.
Will steal across that sky,
Blent of the future and the past,
Of hope and memory.
