VI

Day follows night, and night returns to day Through all the enchanting stages of the spring; And exile lengthens out to months that fling Their shadow further, and my life grows gray; Grays even with the sun’s increasing ray; While forward still the heading heats do wing Into the year, that softly rounds his ring To midsummer, and June is on the way: The perfect season, when the hawthorn blows Down cream-white Scottish hedges, and the spent Airs of the evening gently swaying close Tired eyes upon it, heavy with its scent; While on the Downs the beating sunlight glows, And sends the wildering roses over Kent.