She has become as a barren tree On a bleak hillside in December -- One with no home-bound, work-worn Traveller to cover -- One with no nestling to hover. There is ample sap at her roots Waiting to rise at the reach Of recurring spring ... But she is tired, cold, out-worn, Not rousing, nor caring to remember That spring follows close on December -- That she may be again, a little later, Verdant, voluptuous shelter and mother -- With torn travellers to cover And helpless nestlings to hover. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE by ROBERT HERRICK TELLING THE BEES (A COLONIAL CUSTOM) by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE UNCLE ANANIAS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON I SHALL HAVE PEACE AGAIN (WRITTEN AFTER READING 'RIDERS TO THE SEA' by FLORA LOUISE BAILEY ENTERTAINMENT by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE IMPROVISATORE: ALBERT AND EMILY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES A FARM NEAR ZILLEBEKE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |