The Gentle South
AFTER dark vapours have oppressed our plainsFor a long dreary season, comes a dayBorn of the gentle South, and clears awayFrom the sick heavens all unseemly stains.The anxious month, relieved from its pains,Takes as a long-lost sight the feel of May,The eyelids with the passing coolness play,Like rose-leaves with the drip of summer rains.The calmest thoughts come round us—as of leavesBudding; fruit ripening in stillness; autumn sunsSmiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves;Sweet Sappho’s cheek; a sleeping infant’s breath;The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs;A woodland rivulet; a poet’s death.