EARTH bows herself before the frost to-night, Her pleasant hair, the grass, is changed and white, Her songs are hush'd, her sighs have died away, She lies in silence, passive, cold, and grey. The moon looks down. She scorns the shallow peace, The calm of Age, and cries: "Shall tumult cease Because a bird is dead, a brook is bound? In me alone is final stillness found." Yet other rest we craved, O pulseless Moon; We sought the sunlit peace of summer noon, A glowing hour fulfilled with life and light And consummation won,—but lo, the night! Our house of clay will soon be frosted o'er, Our fledgeling hopes lie dead upon the floor, And many a flower must fail, and fair device, And many a purling stream be sealed with ice. Yet safe in green recesses of the heart A passionate thrush still sits and broods apart; And down in caverns where no frost assails The solemn voice of water still prevails. Though Mirth and Tears, oh frosty Age, sleep well, And all seems quiet as a convent cell, Yet Life still wakes behind her curtains drawn, And sighs for spring and supplicates the dawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CURTAIN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VISIONS: 5 by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON CHRISTMAS TREES; A CHRISTMAS CIRCULAR LETTER by ROBERT FROST TWILIGHT SYMPHONY by LESLIE ANDERSON |