  TWO raptures are there; one is of the spring; Life leaps down all her sources and is glad With gladness that enfolds each humblest thing. Furrows teem fragrant, trees with buds go mad; Music and color and a sunbright glee Turn sullen earth into sweet Arcady. The autumn’s rapture is a soberer wight, But deep in tender dreams and rich in rare Designs, and mellow harmonies of light. The hills lie steeped in memories most fair, The forests blaze with visions, and the year, Two-minded, mingles elegies of dearth With hopeful hymns of yet triumphant birth, When May returns, when Spring again is here. Richard Burton. |
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