A storm of fiery leaves are out at play

Around the lingering sunset of the wood.

Where rows of blackberries unnoticed stood,

Run streams of ruddy color wildly gay;

The golden lane half dreaming picks its way

Through ’whelming vines, as through a gleaming flood.

O warm, outspoken earth, a little space

Against thy beating heart my heart shall beat,

A little while they twain shall bleed and burn,

And then the cold touch and the gray, gray face,

The frozen pulse, the drifted winding-sheet,

And speechlessness, and the chill burial urn.

{44}

{44}

Winter

NOW that the earth has hid her lovely brood

N

Of green things in her breast safe out of sight,

And all the trees have stripped them for the fight,

The winter comes with wild winds singing rude

 Prev. P 37/78 next