Winter—aback sweeps the inward eye, Fleet o'er the trail to a rose-wreathed sky, Girt by a cordon of dreams I dwell Deep in the heart of the old-time spell. Almost, the tones of your whispered word, Almost! the thrill that your dear lips stirred, Almost!! that wild pulsing throb again— Almost!!!— ('Tis winter, the falling rain). | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LADY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE SIMON THE CYRENIAN SPEAKS by COUNTEE CULLEN SOMETIMES by THOMAS SAMUEL JONES JR. IDYLLS OF THE KING: DEDICATION by ALFRED TENNYSON THE NEW SIRENS: A PALINODE by MATTHEW ARNOLD HAWTHORN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |