AGRAY old hag, in cloak and hood Of somber gray, Gleaning gray twigs and bits of wood At close of day, November creeps across the land Yet magic gifts are in her hand -- Her fagots cold need but a spark And hearth-stone room, And warmth of June from out the dark Will burst to bloom. Of foster-mothers tenderest, Close-harboring Earth's sleeping seeds within her breast Until the spring, Let gray November clasp the land. Yet from her lean but kindly hand Let us, dear heart, her fagots take, And on this stone A warm and cheery June-time make; Our own, our own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CRY OF THE HUMAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE TWO MYSTERIES by MARY ELIZABETH MAPES DODGE LOST AND FOUND by GEORGE MACDONALD DEATH AND CUPID; AN ALLEGORY by JOHN GODFREY SAXE CIRCUS AT NIGHT by MADELEINE AARON INSCRIPTIONS: 4 by MARK AKENSIDE A PREPARATORY HYMNE TO THE WEEK OF MEDITACIONS UPON, & DEVOUT EXERCISE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |