Sonnet Xx Poem by Robert Anderson

WRITTEN IN SPRING.

Again gay Spring the rustic calls to love,
And spreads her flow'ry mantle o'er the grove;
The soaring lark again salutes the morn,
And sings to Phoebus oft a cheerful strain;
At eve the ploughman views his rising corn,
And hears soft music echo o'er the plain:
But, ah! gay Spring removes not keen Despair,
Nor soothes the wretched bosom fraught with care!
Whether I seek the thick embow'ring shade,
Or thro' the dasied meadow bend my way,
I court in vain the joys Hope once pourtray'd--
Her fairest blossoms bloom but to decay:
Tir'd Fancy now a gloomy picture draws,
And Sadness round my head her faded garland throws.