Athwart the blackening bars of pines benighted,
The sun, descending to the zones of denser
Cloud that o'erhung the long horizon, lighted
Upon the crown of earth a flaming censer
From which white clouds of incense, overflowing,
Filled the chill clarity from whence the swallows
Had lately fled with wreathed vapours, showing
Like a fine bloom over the lonely fallows:
Where, with the pungent breath of mist was blended
A faint aroma of pine-needles sodden
By autumn rains, and fainter still, ascended
Beneath high woods the scent of leaves downtrodden.
It was a moment when the earth, that sickened
For Spring, as lover when the beloved lingers,
Lay breathless, while the distant goddess quickened
Some southern hill-side with her glowing fingers:
And so, it seemed, the drowsy lands were shaken,
Stirred in their sleep, and sighed, as though the pain
Of a strange dream had bidden them awaken
To frozen days and bitter nights again.