I WILL not rail, or grieve when torpid eld Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see The lovelier leaves hang yellow on the tree, The nimbler brooks in icy fetters held. Methinks the aged eye, that first beheld The fitful ravage of December wild, Then knew himself indeed dear Nature's child, Seeing the common doom, that all compell'd. No kindred we to her beloved broods, If, dying these, we drew a selfish breath; But one path travel all her multitudes, And none dispute the solemn Voice that saith: "Sun, to thy setting; to your autumn, woods; Stream, to thy sea; and man, unto thy death!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEW YEAR'S DAWN - BROADWAY by SARA TEASDALE A DREAM OF DEATH by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A WINTRY LULLABY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE JEWISH MARTYRS by W. V. B. WRITTEN ON A MARBLE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE OLD YEAR by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE DISTURBED WASP; TO WILLIAM BEEBE by ANNE MILLAY BREMER ON CLEADA'S HILL THE MOON IS BRIGHT by JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN |