I did not pluck at all, And I am sorry now: The garden is not barred But the boughs are heavy with snow, The flake-blossoms thickly fall And the hid roots sigh, " How long will our flowers be marred?" Strange as a bird were dumb, Strange as a hueless leaf As one deaf hungers to hear, Or gazes without belief, The fruit yearned " Fingers, come!" O, shut hands, be empty another year. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IDEA: TO THE READER OF THESE SONNETS, INTRODUCTION by MICHAEL DRAYTON NOT DEAD by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES SONNET: 9 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY CHRISTMAS LULLABY by MARY KATUS ANDERSON AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD INSCRIPTION FOR AN ICE-HOUSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |