Sonnet I. To Laura Poem by Henry Francis Cary

How sweet to roam abroad, when twilight gray
O'er the dank fields her dusky mantle throws,
When close the woodbine and the briar rose,
At the departure of the sinking day!
Now, my lov'd Laura, let us pensive stray,
And watch soft-footed Eve to sweet repose
Lull all Creation! save that wildly flows
One liquid note from yonder hawthorn spray:
'Tis the lorn nightingale's enamour'd air,
That darkling aye begins her plaintive notes,
When flutters to his moss-enwoven nest
The gaudy minstrel of the morn—My Fair,
Here pause awhile, and catch each sound that floats
On th'wings of Eve—and hush vain thought to rest.