WHEN the feud of hot and cold Leaves the autumn woodlands bare; When the year is getting old, And flowers are dead, and keen the air; When the crow has new concern, And early sounds his raucuous note; And -- where the late witch-hazels burn -- The squirrel from a chuckling throat Tells that one larder's space is filled, And tilts upon a towering tree; And, valiant, quick, and keenly thrilled, Upstarts the tiny chickadee; When the sun's still shortening arc Too soon night's shadows dun and gray Brings on, and fields are drear and dark, And summer birds have flown away, -- I feel the year's slow-beating heart, The sky's chill prophecy I know; And welcome the consummate art Which weaves this spotless shroud of snow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON FINDING A FAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 18. TO THE HON. FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON by MARK AKENSIDE IN MEMORIAM by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON WHO SEEKS THE KING by LARENE KING BLEECKER |