After dark vapors have oppressed our plains For a long dreary season, comes a day Born of the gentle South, and clears away From the sick heavens all unseemly stains. The anxious month, relieving from its pains, Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May, The eyelids with the passing coolness play, Like rose leaves with the drip of summer rains. The calmest thoughts come round us -- as of leaves Budding -- fruit ripening in stillness -- autumn suns Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves -- Sweet Sappho's cheek -- a sleeping infant's breath -- The gradual sand that through an hourglass runs -- A woodland rivulet -- a poet's death.
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