There is a warm brownness In the wide flat fields With naked trees And fences. There is a gesture of abundance In the stolid silos, Large wood barns And houses. Yet these cannot supercede The blue cold tops of hills And steep ravines Of my New England. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 74. ST. LUKE THE PAINTER (OLD & NEW ART) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI HOMAGE TO QUINTUS SEPTIMIUS FLORENTIS CHRISTIANUS (1) by ANYTE BOTHWELL: PART 5 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN SELF-COMMUNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE THE SENTINEL; TO MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |