Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/196

164   “Our sweet illusions only die Fulfilling love’s sure prophecy; And every wish for better things An undreamed beauty nearer brings.

“For fate is servitor of love; Desire and hope and longing prove The secret of immortal youth, And Nature cheats us into truth.

“O kind allurers, wisely sent, Beguiling with benign intent, Still move us, through divine unrest, To seek the loveliest and the best!

“Go with us when our souls go free, And, in the clear, white light to be, Add unto Heaven’s beatitude The old delight of seeking good!”

flowers have perished at the touch
 * Of Frost, the early comer,

I hail the season loved so much,
 * The good St. Martin’s summer.

O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn,
 * And thin moon curving o’er it!

The old year’s darling, latest born,
 * More loved than all before it!

How flamed the sunrise through the pines!
 * How stretched the birchen shadows,

Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines
 * The westward sloping meadows!

The sweet day, opening as a flower
 * Unfolds its petals tender,

Renews for us at noontide’s hour
 * The summer’s tempered splendor.

The birds are hushed; alone the wind,
 * That through the woodland searches,

The red-oak’s lingering leaves can find,
 * And yellow plumes of larches.

But still the balsam-breathing pine
 * Invites no thought of sorrow,

No hint of loss from air like wine
 * The earth’s content can borrow.

The summer and the winter here
 * Midway a truce are holding,

A soft, consenting atmosphere
 * Their tents of peace enfolding.

The silent woods, the lonely hills,
 * Rise solemn in their gladness;

The quiet that the valley fills
 * Is scarcely joy or sadness.

How strange! The autumn yesterday
 * In winter’s grasp seemed dying;

On whirling winds from skies of gray
 * The early snow was flying.