TH' autumnal glories all have passed away! The forest-leaves no more in hectic red Give glowing tokens of their brief decay, But scattered lie, or rustle at the tread, Like whispered warnings from the mouldering dead; The naked trees stretch out their arms all day, And each bald hill-top lifts its reverend head As if for some new covering to pray. Come, WINTER, then, and spread thy robe of white Above the desolation of this scene; And when the sun with gems shall make it bright, Or, when its snowy folds by midnight's queen Are silvered o'er with a serener light, We'll cease to sigh for summer's living green. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPICOENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN: FREEDOM IN DRESS by BEN JONSON EACH FLEETING DAY by CHARLOTTE LOUISE BERTLESEN A RAILROAD YARD AT NIGHT by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE WIND OF SUMMER by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: TERRA INCOGNITA by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |