contents | previous | next Cold, cold the night-blast comes, with sullen sound, And black and gloomy, like my cheerless breast; Frowns the dark pier and lonely sea-view round. Yet a few months — and on the peopled strand Pleasure shall all her varied forms display; Nymphs lightly tread the bright reflecting sand, And proud fails whiten all the summer bay: Then, for these winds that whistle keen and bleak, Music's delightful melodies shall float O'er the blue waters; but 'tis mine to seek Rather, some unfrequented shade, remote From sights and sounds of gaiety — I mourn All that gave me delight — Ah! never to return! |
