“And Change, with hurried hand, has swept these scenes”

from Sonnets, Second Series XVIII And Change, with hurried hand, has swept these scenes: The woods have fallen; across the meadow-lot The hunter’s trail and trap-path is forgot; And fire has drunk the swamps of evergreens! Yet for a moment let my fancy plant These autumn hills again,—the wild dove’s haunt, The wild deer’s walk. In golden umbrage shut, The Indian river runs, Quonecktacut! Here, but a lifetime back, where falls to-night Behind the curtained pane a sheltered light On buds of rose, or vase of violet Aloft upon the marble mantel set,— Here, in the forest-heart, hung blackening The wolf-bait on the bush beside the spring.