THE sky is gray as gray may be, There is no bird upon the bough, There is no leaf on vine or tree. In the Neponset marshes now Willow-stems, rosy in the wind, Shiver with hidden sense of snow. So too 'tis winter in my mind, No light-winged fancy comes and stays: A season churlish and unkind. Slow creep the hours, slow creep the days, The black ink crusts upon the pen -- Just wait till bluebirds, wrens, and jays And golden orioles come again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORGIVENESS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE HOMECOMING by THOMAS HARDY ECHO AND THE FERRY by JEAN INGELOW GEORGE LEVISON OR, THE SCHOOLFELLOWS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE SPHINX AT MOUNT AUBURN by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES AN IMITATION OF SPENCER by WILLIAM BLAKE NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 16 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |