Her tragedies she always keeps alive, She wears a wornout sorrow as the oak, Retains marcescent leaves; the winds revive The monody by sobbing through its cloak Through the silently falling snow. It's better to imitate the naked beech: It gladly surrenders all to winter's cold, It's only its foot that ever tries to reach For all its fallen leaves that slowly mold Under the white covering of the snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE EXPECTED GENERAL RISING OF THE FRENCH NATION IN 1792 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE PHANTOM HORSEWOMAN by THOMAS HARDY THE MISTLETOE BOUGH by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY NIAGARA by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE WANDERER: PROLOGUE. PART 2 by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |