GROW old and die, rich Day, Over some English field -- Chartered to come away What time to Death you yield! Pass, frost-white ghost, and then Come forth to banish'd men! I see the stubble's sheen, The mist and ruddled leaves, Here where the new Spring's green For her first rain-drops grieves. Here beechen leaves drift red Last week in England dead. For English eyes' delight Those Autumn ghosts go free -- Ghost of the field hoar-white, Ghost of the crimson tree. Grudge them not, England dear, To us thy banished here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MERSA by KEITH CASTELLAINE DOUGLAS SHE CAME AND WENT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL IMITATION OF CHAUCER by ALEXANDER POPE THE FIELD MOUSE by WILLIAM SHARP THREE THINGS by JOSEPH AUSLANDER IN YOUR ABSENCE by ELIZABETH BAXTER EPIGRAM ON THE BRAZIERS' COMPANY HAVING RESOLVED by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |