When autumn fills the valleys That dream of summer still, The first thin snow of winter Lies white on Pompey Hill. The rain that falls on stubble In harvest fields below Drifts lightly down on Pompey As feather-crystal snow. In spring the angry torrents Down all the gullies run Before the Pompey snowfields Yield to the mounting sun. The wooded slopes in April With trilliums are set While Pompey Hill is swelling Its icy freshets yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OWEN SEAMAN; ESTABLISHES ENTENE CORDIALE IN MANNER GUY WETMORE CARRYL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THISTLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS BALLAD OF THE GOODLY FERE by EZRA POUND TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.; POET LAUREATE AND HISTOGRAPHER ROYAL by PHILIP AYRES AN OLD SAW NEWLY RENDERED by LEVI BISHOP TO ROBERT BURNS; AN EPISTLE ON INSTINCT by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |