BLUE is the sky overhead, Blue with the northland's pallor, Never a cloud in sight, Naught but the moon's gray sickle; And ever around me, gray, Ashes, and rock, and lichen. Far as the sick eye searches Ghastly trunks, that were trees once, Up to their bony branches Carry the gray of ruin. Lo! where across the mountain Swept the scythe of the wind-fall, Moss of a century's making Lies on this death-swath lonely, Where in grim heaps the wood sachems, Like to the strange dead of battle, Stay, with their limbs ever rigid Set in the doom-hour of anguish. Far and away o'er this waste land Wanders a trail through gray boulders, Brown to the distant horizon. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A MOUSE, ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOUGH by ROBERT BURNS SUNSET AND SUNRISE by EMILY DICKINSON HARVEST SONG by LUDWIG HENRICH CHRISTOPH HOLTY HEAVEN-HAVEN; A NUN TAKES THE VEIL by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS CHRIST IN THE UNIVERSE by ALICE MEYNELL BROOKLYN BRIDGE by CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS THE MERMAID by ALFRED TENNYSON THE LETTER; EDWARD ROWLAND SILL, DIED FEBRUARY 27, 1887 by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |