E' EN now, my daily labour done,
When faintly gleams the setting sun,
I wander forth: while, all around,
The ear can catch no livelier sound
Than gusts of wind, which, hurrying by,
Through yonder branches seem to sigh;
Unless on evening's gale should float,
In fitful swell, the casual note
Of martial music — faintly caught,
With pleasing melancholy fraught
And though the lengthen'd day would fain
Assert fair Spring's returning reign,
The leafless boughs, the sighing gale,
The gathering clouds, the misty veil
Which shroud the sun's declining ray,
Confess stern Winter's lengthen'd sway.
Yet still to me this dreary hour,
This shadowy landscape, has the power
To soothe my pensive troubled heart,
And tranquillizing bliss impart.
I like to see bleak Winter yield
To Spring reluctantly the field;
I love to mark the watery gleam
Of sunshine on the Deben's stream;
While still in some sequester'd lane,
Screen'd from the blast that sweeps the plain,
Some little flower its head uprears,
Smiling even amid its tears,
Whose chilly drops shall soon be dried,
And Flora claim her garland's pride.