A wash of rippling breath that just arrives, Thin yellow tufts shattering and showering down And, underfoot and all about me blown, Thin yellow tufts and threads, bunches of fives: Too curiously I note each lightest thing. But where are they, my friends whose fair young lives Gave these dead bowers the freshness of the spring? Gone! And save tears and memory, all is gone ... Fate robs us not of these nor Death deprives. But when will Nature here new beauty bring Or thou behold those faces gathering? I mark the glimmering moss that yet survives, I touch the trees, I tread the shedded shives,-- But when will come the new awakening? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GREEN MOUNTAIN IDYL by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN DAWN by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND THE POET (2) by ISAAC ROSENBERG |