It is a willow when summer is over, a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson. The leaves cling and grow paler, swing and grow paler over the swirling waters of the river as if loath to let go, they are so cool, so drunk with the swirl of the wind and of the river -- oblivious to winter, the last to let go and fall into the water and on the ground. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD by ROBERT BURNS DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI: 2. HEAT by JOHN GOULD FLETCHER FIDELIS by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER AMORETTI: 15 by EDMUND SPENSER GRAND IS THE SEEN by WALT WHITMAN ON THE MEANING OF ST. PAUL'S EXPRESSION OF SPEAKING WITH TONGUES by JOHN BYROM |