Chapter XLV

As imperceptibly as grief The summer lapsed away, -- Too imperceptible, at last, To seem like perfidy.

A quietness distilled, As twilight long begun, Or Nature, spending with herself Sequestered afternoon.

The dusk drew earlier in, The morning foreign shone, -- A courteous, yet harrowing grace, As guest who would be gone.

And thus, without a wing, Or service of a keel, Our summer made her light escape Into the beautiful.