It is a willow when summer is over, a willow by the river from which no leaf has fallen nor bitten by the sun turned orange or crimson. The leaves cling and grow paler, swing and grow paler over the swirling waters of the river as if loath to let go, they are so cool, so drunk with the swirl of the wind and of the river -- oblivious to winter, the last to let go and fall into the water and on the ground. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW TO HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET, ON HIS THIRD BIRTHDAY by RICHARD CORBET HIS CAVALIER by ROBERT HERRICK A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 8 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ODE ON A GRECIAN URN by JOHN KEATS ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES [OR, DOMINIONS] by WILLIAM WATSON |