WHIRL, snow, on the blackbird's chatter; You will not hinder his song to come. East wind, Sleepless, you cannot scatter Quince-bud, almond-bud, Little grape-hyacinth's Clustering brood, Nor unfurl the tips of the plum. No half born stalk of a lily stops; There is sap in the storm-torn bush; And, ruffled by gusts in a snow-blurred copse, "Pity to wait" sings a thrush. Love, there are few Springs left for us; They go, and the count of them as they go Makes surer the count that is left for us. More than the East wind, more than the snow, I would put back these hours that bring Buds and bees and are lost; I would hold the night and the frost, To save for us one more Spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE BRINK by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TO THE NIGHTINGALE by ANNE FINCH AFTER THE BURIAL by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL PASA THALASSA THALASSA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON FACADE: 27. WHEN SIR BEELZEBUB by EDITH SITWELL NOREMBEGA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 12. VENUS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) EXODUS 15. SONG OF ISRAEL FOR THE OVERTHROW OF EGYPT IN THE RED SEA by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |