Now morning points the day when yellow leaves That yesterday were banners in the sun Their autumn roadside carpet have begun; And through its golden pattern the wind weaves A mountain snow. Here on these ancient hills time does not haste, Though April's greens are changed to Autumn's gold Which now November spends with wind and cold -- With wind and cold lays Summer's beauty waste -- Hides it with snow. Of nights the Hunter's Moon climbs Copple Crown, And venison is cooking on the stove. Who cares how fast, or slow, up here, months move? The cider's poured, and Autumn toast we'll down -- Care we for snow? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO FUSILIERS by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES LA BELLA BONA ROBA by RICHARD LOVELACE WESTWARD HO! by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER AMERICAN THEMES FOR A GILBERT by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE SEAMSTRESS by HENRI BARBUSSE ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE SECOND DAYES LAMENTATION OF THE AFFECTIONATE SHEPHEARD by RICHARD BARNFIELD |