EACH time the wind blows, up I look and see A swarm of blossoms rising in the air, And of its week-old flakes the hedge left bare, And apple-boughs deserted by the bee, And the one tardy-blossomed, slim peach-tree Blown like a flame against the stone wall there. But nay, not you; still empty climbs the stair. Yet, by sure signs the new year gives to me, -- By daffodils aging upon their stalks; By purple of the lilac turning gray; And by the last of bloom the long day through Heaped in the roads, and whitening all the walks, -- Full well I know you speeding this dear way. Can June return once more, and, sweet, not you? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS by GEORGE AUGUSTUS BAKER JR. THE DEIL'S AWA WI' TH' EXCISEMAN by ROBERT BURNS EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DRIFTER OFF TARENTUM by RUDYARD KIPLING A LITTLE CHILD'S HYMN; FOR NIGHT AND MORNING by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS' by SARA TEASDALE |