Sonnet. Written In Ill Health At The Close Of Spring. Poem by Susan Evance

WHERE are the tearful smile of youthful Spring,
That nurs'd the budding leaves and infant flow'rs?
Ah! vanish'd- like those dear regretted hours
That fled away on Pleasure's fairy wing,
When hope light scatter'd o'er my glowing way
Her rose-buds of delight.- The cooling breeze,
The wily sportive warblers of the trees,
And garlands sweet that made the woods so gay,
All, all are gone.- Spring will return again,
But never more for me its charms shall bloom,
For me then slumbering in the dreary tomb
The birds will sing and flow'rets blow in vain;
While gentle gales, the budding trees that wave,
Will breathe their lonely sighs across my grave.