I IF seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here That white winds bid depart; Then one I used to see here Would warm my wasted heart! II One frail, who, bravely tilling Long hours in gripping gusts, Was mastered by their chilling, And now his ploughshare rusts. So savage winter catches The breath of limber things, And what I love he snatches, And what I love not, brings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEDITATIONS OF A HINDU [OR, HINDOO] PRINCE [AND SKEPTIC] by ALFRED COMYNS LYALL THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT [OR AFTER] CORUNNA by CHARLES WOLFE DIRGE AND HYMENAL by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES MATRIMONIAL MELODIES: 4. AMPLE by BERTON BRALEY THE MAIN DRAG by BERTON BRALEY LAND, HO! by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE PITCHER by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |