It is winter in my garden, The naked branches of the shrubs Betray the wounds of Pruner's knife. It is winter in my heart, The ghost of half-remembered fear Chills to desolation My spirit. It is winter in my garden. The shriveled mummy of a summer's flower is gaunt; I must remember to give it Burial. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW THE GREAT GUEST CAME by EDWIN MARKHAM NIGHT, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE BOSTON COMMON: 1630 by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO HESTER [SAVORY] by CHARLES LAMB ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON YOU MAY REMEMBER by LULU PIPER AIKEN SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 6. LOVE'S DESPAIR by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |