The woman who has grown old And knows desire must die, Yet turns to love again, Hears the crows' cry. She is a stem long hardened, A weed that no scythe mows. The heart's laughter will be to her The crying of the crows, Who slide in the air with the same voice Over what yields not and what yields, Alike in spring, or when there is only bitter Winter burning in the fields. @3The Literary Review@1, | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ADAM AND HIS FATHER by KAREN SWENSON THIRD BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 12 by THOMAS CAMPION CORN-LAW HYMN by EBENEZER ELLIOTT THE BROOK; AN IDYL: THE BROOK'S SONG by ALFRED TENNYSON THE MORAL FABLES: THE SHEEP AND THE DOG by AESOP MY FRIEND by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 10 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH LINES; TO ONE WHO WISHED TO READ A POEM I HAD WRITTEN by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA |