Sonnet Lxxiii. Summer, When The Prime Is Reached, But There Are Tokens Of Decay. Poem by Henry Alford

For Summer I would paint a married pair
Sitting in close embraces, while a band
Of children kneel before them hand in hand;
Healthful their cheeks, and from their mantling hair,
Well--knit and clear, their downward limbs are bare;
His hand is past over her neck, and prest
In pride of love upon her full ripe breast;
And yet his brow is delved with lines of care,
And in her shining eye one truant tear
Stands, ready to be shed:--a quiet scene,
But not without perchance intruding fear
That never comes again what once hath been;
And recollection that our fondest toil
But weaves a texture for the world to soil.