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TO A. S.
On receiving His Work on Milton
Georgia! the very name is flower and sun,
And bourgeons like the summer! straight I see
The robins in your china-berry tree,
A rosy host, ere day is well begun,
And the red-headed woodpeckers that run
About the humming poles' telegraphy,
Hunting the fancied worm!—But here, with me,
Your rose-japonica, too soon undone,
And bourgeons like the summer! straight I see
The robins in your china-berry tree,
A rosy host, ere day is well begun,
And the red-headed woodpeckers that run
About the humming poles' telegraphy,
Hunting the fancied worm!—But here, with me,
Your rose-japonica, too soon undone,
Lies dead. Me, in my northern hermitage,
The "dark" and "miry" ways of March confine,
Who once was free of Enna and Palerm:
I sooth the rugged clime with bard and sage,
And mend the sullen fates, this book of thine
My solace, that doth the inward sight confirm.
The "dark" and "miry" ways of March confine,
Who once was free of Enna and Palerm:
I sooth the rugged clime with bard and sage,
And mend the sullen fates, this book of thine
My solace, that doth the inward sight confirm.
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