Poetry Archives

Thou art my morning, twilight, noon, and eve,
  My Summer and my Winter, Spring and Fall;
  For Nature left on thee a touch of all
The moods that come to gladden or to grieve
The heart of Time, with purpose to relieve
  From lagging sameness. So do these forestall
  In thee such o’erheaped sweetnesses as pall
Too swiftly, and the taster tasteless leave.

Scenes that I love to me always remain
  Beautiful, whether under summer’s sun
Beheld, or, storm-dark, stricken across with rain.
  So, through all humors, thou ‘rt the same sweet one:
Doubt not I love thee well in each, who see
Thy constant change is changeful constancy.