The work is heavy. I see bare branches laden with snow. I try to comfort myself with thought of your old age. A girl passes, in a red tam, the coat above her quick ankles snow smeared from running and falling - Of what shall I think now save of death the bright dancer? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROOM OF MIRRORS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS INVOCATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER REVELATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE FROGS: A 'EURIPIDEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES THE DRUG-SHOP, OR, ENDYMION IN EDMONSTOUN by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET |