Henry Alford Poems

For Summer I would paint a married pair
Sitting in close embraces, while a band
Of children kneel before them hand in hand;
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Autumn should be a youth wasted and wan,
A flush upon his cheek, and in his eye
Unhealthful fire; and there should sit hard by
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Not song, nor beauty, nor the wondrous power
Of the clear sky, nor stream, nor mountain glen,
Nor the wide Ocean, turn the hearts of men
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Friend of my heart, here in my close green bower
I wait thy coming: slender clematis
And the rank wild--vine, with late primroses,
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Unknown it is to me, who handed down
From sire to son mine humble family;
Whether they dwelt in low obscurity,
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Two pilgrims on a pleasant road set forth:
Green was the herbage by their journey--side;
Through deep and shrubby dells their way they plied,
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The heart of man is everywhere the same:
In distant Savoy roamed we long ago
With one to guide us o'er the mountain snow;
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Force not to over--growth the subject mind:
Heaven's the power that spread the native soil;
The tillage only asks thy careful toil,
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Dear Spirit, lo, thy poet, full at heart,
Puts on his singing--garb and flowery gear,
To make sweet music in thy listening ear:
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Loud raged the tumult: Ocean far and near
Seethed with wild anger, up the sloping sand
Driving the shreds of foam; while, half in fear,
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