THE pale sun, through the spectral wood, Gleams sparely, where I pass: My footstep, silent as my mood, Falls in the silent grass. Only my shadow points before me, Where I am moving now: Only sad memories murmur o'er me From every leafless bough: And out of the nest of last year's Redbreast Is stolen the very snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KU KLUX by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND BELOVED by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE PITY OF LOVE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS DEATH AND THE LADY; THEIR BARGAIN TOLD AGAIN by LEONIE ADAMS |