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James Russell Lowell - On An Autumn Sketch Of H.G. Wild
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Thanks to the artist, ever on my wall
The sunset stays: that hill in glory rolled,
Those trees and clouds in crimson and in gold,
Burn on, nor cool when evening`s shadows fall.
Not round _these_ splendors Midnight wraps her pall;
_These_ leaves the flush of Autumn`s vintage hold
In Winter`s spite, nor can the Northwind bold
Deface my chapel`s western window small:
On one, ah me! October struck his frost,
But not repaid him with those Tyrian hues;
His naked boughs but tell him what is lost,
And parting comforts of the sun refuse:
His heaven is bare,--ah, were its hollow crost
Even with a cloud whose light were yet to lose!
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