La fleur tombe en livrant ses parfums au zéphire, A la vie, au soleil, ce sont là ses adieux; Moi, je meurs: et mon âme, au moment qu'elle expire, S'exhale comme un son triste et mélodieux. DE LAMARTINE. www. WINTER. 'Tis done! dread Winter spreads its latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man! See here thy pictured life; pass some few years, And pale concluding Winter comes at last, www. THOMSON. DECEMBER. No mark of vegetable life is seen; No bird to bird repeats his tuneful call, Save the dark leaves of some rude evergreen; Save the lone redbreast on the moss-grown wall. SCOTT. THE SEASONS. WHEN snows descend, and robe the fields When Spring appears; when violets blow, And shed a rich perfume; How soon the fragrance breathes its last, How short-liv'd is its bloom. Fresh in the morn, the summer rose Hangs withering ere 'tis noon; We scarce enjoy the balmy gift, But mourn the pleasure gone. With gliding fire, an evening star And in an instant dies. Such are the charms that flush the cheek, And sparkle in the eye; So from the lovely finish'd form, The transient graces fly. To this the seasons as they roll, Their attestation bring; They warn the fair; their every round www HERVEY. CHOICE OF SEASONS. WHO loves not Spring's voluptuous hours, Who loves not Winter's awful form? MONTGOMERY. WHO CAN PAINT LIKE NATURE? CAN IMAGINATION BOAST, AMID ITS GAY CREATION, hues like heRS? OK CAN IT MIX THEM WITH THAT MATCHLESS SKILL, AH, WHERE FIND WORDS THOMSON. |