The Pensive Leaf
As long as the waves on the winter,
How cold doth it seem here, remind
All shades with me seem splintered —
In day softly purged with lips aligned;
A thought broods down softer with night
Whispering down from its towers fair;
Adhere as pains burst forth in flight
In the hearts that are sweet through the air.
— James Collinson
- James Collinson