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Poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon


Fragment (It is not spring, but still the new-come year)


It is not spring, but still the new-come year
Bears on its softened brow sweet promises
Of soon returning smiles;twilight again
Claims her soft reign of one delicious hour;
When the red sunset, fading from above,
Leaves on the west an arch of silvery light
A fairy garden for the evening star
Ere yet the other glorious lamps of heaven
Look on her vesper solitude; or ere
The moon has risen o'er yon shadowy hills.
The hazel flings its yellow blossomings,

And some green traces of expected May
Are venturing to show forth; tho' not as yet
The violet or primrose have awak'd,
Or the wild rose blush'd faintly into bud;
Only the languid snow-drop now is seen
A melancholy harbinger of joy,
Whose delicate beauty is but for a day,
To welcome in the spring, and then to die.
And by it is the deadly aconite
To look upon, a pale and innocent flower
Alas! that even in this first fair gift,
This early wreath, there should the poison lurk!
But it is thus with every loveliness:
Either so frail, its life is but a breath,
Or else some bitterness grows by its side.



Letitia Elizabeth Landon


Letitia Elizabeth Landon's other poems:
  1. Amelioration and the Future, Man's Noble Tasks
  2. The Tournament
  3. The Nameless Grave
  4. Cafes in Damascus
  5. Windleshaw Abbey, or, The Funeral


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