THROUGH moveless pines I hear the air Rolling like a silken flood, And the clear note of a lonesome bird Piping a quiet word. Bowing shadows weigh the snows; In every bush the sunshine flows. Winter, solemn though it is, Distils deep mysteries. We, who must grow poor and old, Since our loveliest hours in childhood were told, We, to whom visions in youth were shown Clear and crowning as dawn, Must sift and sift to a single theme, To a lyric line, the truth of our dream. When age and the winter night are long, We must simplify our song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 4. CAPRI by SARA TEASDALE THE BLUEBELL by EMILY JANE BRONTE A BARD'S EPITAPH by ROBERT BURNS THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: AUGUST by EDMUND SPENSER I GREET THEE by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |