Sonnet LXXXVII (THE blasts of Autumn as they…)

THE blasts of Autumn as they scatter round The faded foliage of another year, And muttering many a sad and solemn sound, Drive the pale fragments o'er the stubble sere, Are well attuned to my dejected mood; (Ah! better far than airs that breathe of Spring!) While the high rooks, that hoarsely clamouring Seek in black phalanx the half-leafless wood, I rather hear, than that enraptured lay Harmonious, and of Love and Pleasure born, Which from the golden furze, or flowering thorn Awakes the Shepherd in the ides of May; Nature delights me most when most she mourns, For never more to me the Spring of Hope returns!