The Indian Summer
A glimmering haze upon the landscape rests;
The sky has on a softer robe of blue;
And the slant sunbeams glisten mildly through
The floating clouds, that lift their pearly crests
Mid the pure currents of the upper air.
The fields are dressed in Autumn's faded green,
And trees no more their clustering foliage wear;
Yet Nature smiles, all lovely and serene.
How sweetly breathes this life-inspiring gale,
Stirring yon silver lake's transparent wave!
Could we but dream that Winter, coldly pale,
Might never o'er this scene of beauty rave,
Or touch the waters with his icy spear, —
Oh! would these golden hours be half so dear?
The sky has on a softer robe of blue;
And the slant sunbeams glisten mildly through
The floating clouds, that lift their pearly crests
Mid the pure currents of the upper air.
The fields are dressed in Autumn's faded green,
And trees no more their clustering foliage wear;
Yet Nature smiles, all lovely and serene.
How sweetly breathes this life-inspiring gale,
Stirring yon silver lake's transparent wave!
Could we but dream that Winter, coldly pale,
Might never o'er this scene of beauty rave,
Or touch the waters with his icy spear, —
Oh! would these golden hours be half so dear?
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