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SONNET.
ELCOME, grave Autumn! though thy fading flowers,And leaves of sadder hue, all seem to tell
Summer now has breathed her long farewell.
Yet sweet to me thy still and tranquil hours;
For with them still returns the joyful day
That gave to earth my chiefest blessing here,
The loved of youth,—the Husband, doubly dear,
With every year that glides too fast away.
For now, mine own! with all thy present love
A thousand memories true and tender blend,
A thousand hopes their buoyant wings extend,
To lighten sorrows all on earth must prove.
Oh, Dearest! may God's blessing be our portion here,
Then come what may, our path must still be sure and clear.
E.
October 6, 1850.
