Incipit
Respite Through well-kept arbours fruitlessly I stray’d In quest of respite from the causeless woes That throng the weary spirit, and invade The mind too seldom dreamless with repose. Not neat-hedg’d path, nor garden’s radiant grace. Nor crystal fountain playing o’er the green, Could cheer my heart, or from my soul efface The tragedy of things that might have been. The orchard boughs, bedeck’d with flow’rs of spring, The verdant lawns, with skilful labour shorn. To me no joy nor grateful thrill could bring; In tears I came, and linger’d but to mourn. One day, in idleness, ray foot …
152 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
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