Written in the Spring

Fair was the face of this illumined dawn,
With vernal brightness, vernal softness fair,
The sun incessant wooed the blushing morn
And all the youthful hours laughed round the pair:
But ere the evening, what a change was there!
Harsh thunders roll and fork~ lightnings fly;
Hiemal tempests brood along the air
Or fall in torrents from an angry sky.
Ah! scarce less mutable is man's brief day;
Soon are his early prospects clouded o'er,
And those soft suns that shot their April ray
Across his primrose pathway shine no more:
Grief on the present drops her tearful showers,
And apprehension over the future lours.

Thomas Park (1759-1834)


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2013 Selected Poetry
The Poets Garret
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