A weft of leafless spray Woven fine against the gray Of the autumnal day, And blurred along those ghostly garden tops Clusters of berries crimson as the drops That may heart bleeds when I remember How often, in how many a far November, Of childhood and my children's childhood I was glad, With the wild rapture of the Fall Thrilling from me to them, of all The ruin now so intolerably sad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER TO THE THAMES OF LONDON TO FAVOUR HIS LADY ... by GEORGE TURBERVILLE INTO THE TWILIGHT by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON GOOD FRIDAY, THE DAY OF OUR SAVIOUR'S PASSION by PHILIP AYRES LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR; A LAY OF SHERWOOD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN LINES [WRITTEN] IN THE TRAVELLER'S BOOK AT ORCHOMENUS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |