THE earth seems a desolate mother, -- Betrayed like the princess of old, The ermine stripped from her shoulders, And her bosom all naked and cold. But a joy looks out from her sadness, For she feels with a glad unrest The throb of the unborn summer Under her bare, brown breast. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRINGED GENTIANS by AMY LOWELL THE BEAN-STALK by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY I DO NOT LOVE THEE by CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH SHERIDAN NORTON TIPPERARY: 3. AS THE INTERLINEARS MIGHT TAKE IT FROM XENOPHON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES by ALEXANDER ANDERSON TWELVE SONNETS: 11. FIRST, BATTLE; THEN, WOMAN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |