WHEN chimneys no more music hold, For that the swallows all are gone; When winds be salty, blowing cold From sailing ships and the wet dawn; When briers where the rose was bold, On blackened twigs show berries sere, Then oh, my love, and hey, my love, The closing o' the year! When gusts die down, and lanes grow still, And the old weather comes once more; When stiffening stalks begin to thrill, And twisted boughs bud at the door; When for some sweet space on the hill, White as long since the thorn-bush blows, Then oh, my love, and hey, my love, The year is at the close! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?' by FRANCIS BRET HARTE A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 31 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN RODGERSON'S DOUG by WILLIAM AITKEN HUSH OF TWILIGHT by G. KENYON ASHENDEN OCTOBER by MARIE DAVIES WARREN BECKNER |