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HERTHA.
ITHIN my room, by heat oppressed, (All morning shades being vanished quite,)I loitered long—a favorite guest, Right free to idle as I might;Yet fretted sadly, void of rest, And in no thought could take delight."Obscure thy sun, fair August day!" My peevish lips did sighing plead;"Drop down the shining, silvery way, Yon far-drawn mists from rivers freed;Nor let the tawny eve delay— Thou givest warmth beyond the need."
My tempted soul took up the thought: "On some thy heart is greatly bent,Who cold and scant returns have brought, And thou withal hast been content;Perchance they sigh—'O warmth unsought! We would this noon of love were spent!'"
