Thou hast thrown aside thy summer loveliness:—

And those who sought thy banks are well content

To spend at home in social merriment

Their wintry day; no loitering footsteps press

Thy cheerless border; yet I must confess

I love thee still; and think an hour well spent

In walking by thee; for thy winter dress

To many a lonely hour a charm hath lent.—

Instead of summer's sun; and rippling tide,

Flowing so softly that it seem’d to creep

In silence to thy banks; are now descried

Dark gathering clouds; and o’er thy bosom sweep

The wintry winds, until thou seemst to be

To fancy's eye some little inland sea.