THE sky is dim and silent; lost are mirth, Colour, and motion; e'en the winds are dumb, Save for a constant, faint, unchanging hum, That seems the voice of the despairing earth The birds are pining in this wintry dearth; The trees, that rang with carols frolicsome, Show dead black branches, fringed with white, whence come No whispered hopes of any future birth. And yet to me, the season still is fair, Though things of joy so sad and cold become; Majestic stand the trunks and branches bare, Their lace-like twigs half-seen, half-hid with snow: One frost-bit flower, a red chrysanthemum Tells of the hidden store of life below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOMORROW by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD POETS ARE BORN NOT MADE by ROBERT FROST YOU KNOW WHAT PEOPLE SAY by JAMES GALVIN QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GHOST OF DEACON BROWN by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |