Charles Swain (poet)

"Time to me this truth has taught ('Tis a treasure worth revealing), More offend from want of thought, Than from any want of feeling."

"Tripping down the field-path, Early in the morn, There I met my own love 'Midst the golden corn; Autumn winds were blowing, As in frolic chase, All her silken ringlets Backward from her face; Little time for speaking Had she, for the wind, Bonnet, scarf, or ribbon, Ever swept behind.Still some sweet improvement In her beauty shone; Every graceful movement Won me,—one by one! [...] Little time for wooing Had we, for the wind Still kept on undoing What we sought to bind. [...] Still I see the field-path;— Would that I could see Her whose graceful beauty Lost is now to me!"