Sonnet LXXVIII

WAN Heralds of the Sun and Summer gale!That seem just fallen from infant Zephyrs' wing;Not now, as once, with heart revived I hailYour modest buds, that for the brow of SpringForm the first simple garland—Now no moreEscaping for a moment all my cares,Shall I, with pensive, silent step, exploreThe woods yet leafless; where to chilling airsYour green and pencil'd blossoms, trembling, wave.Ah! ye soft, transient children of the ground,More fair was she on whose untimely graveFlow my unceasing tears! Their varied roundThe Seasons go; while I through all repine:For fixt regret, and hopeless grief are mine.