Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/110

106 Foolish mortal! vain your discontent,

Vain your weary longing for repose;

Fill the day with works your hands have wrought;

Sweet shall be the rest your toil has brought.

TWO.

THREE.

Now comes the breeze up from the sea,

And dallies with the elm-tree boughs;

And with the waving willow tree,

Gracefully and capriciously,

Coquettes, and sighs its hollow vows,

The locust's glancing leaves are bright

With sheen they've stolen from the sun;

And rippling back from shade to light,

They dance now to, now from the sight,

Like waves that stars are shining on.