Classic Poem

Heard you November's howling blast,
Herald of winter's stormy reign,
As through the leafless grove it rush'd,
And swept with sullen sound the plain?

I heard and sigh'd—quick to my view,
What pensive images arise;
Brown faded woods and wither'd plains,
And heavy lowering skies

My fav'rite summer haunts farewell!
Ah! scenes belov'd a long adieu—
How many a dreary month must roll,
Ere I again revisit you:

Where late the river banks above,
High wav'd the overhanging wood,
And soft reflected verdure threw
On the smooth bosom of the flood;

Now struggling with th' impetuous blast,
And stript of all their leafy pride,
The trees their naked branches bend
O'er the deep swol'n discolour'd tide

Where once a pleasing prospect rose
Along the undulating vale,
Green woody lawns and flow'ry meads,
And corn-fields waving in the gale,

'Tis now an undistinguish'd waste,
Each lingering beauty swept away,
All mark'd by one unvary'd hue,
The cheerless livery of decay.

Farewell thou light-dispensing sun
For many a melancholy day;
Curtain'd in vapours shalt thou rise,
And clouds obscure thy setting ray.

Around the mountain's dusky brow
The hov'ring mists for ever creep;
And hail-showers load th' impetuous gale,
Or ceaseless rains the valleys steep.

Haste winter from thy native wilds—
The frozen regions of the north,
With all thy fierce destructive train
Of storms and tempests issue forth.

Come, o'er expiring nature's tomb
Thy throne of desolation rear;
And rule with sole unrivall'd sway,
O'er the sad ruins of the year.

Yet know that nature shall survive
The utmost rigours of thy reign,
Shall from her tomb exulting rise,
And spring adorn the earth again.