Page:Ambarvalia - Clough (1849).djvu/125

 Yet walkest thou not in vain, sweet Eve, At least to-night, we may believe, From this resplendent face, Though oft denial, breeding doubt, Leave not thy cheeriest look without Its melancholy grace.

of the Spring, Why still, this heavenly morn, Must thou of future glories sing, And blessings to be born?

O cease, thou tedious Prophet, cease! Here let the heart delay, And taste a moment's perfect peace Before it pass away!

—Still louder and with louder glee The Cuckoo preached he bolder, Of something better yet to be When Time should be yet older.