She has become as a barren tree On a bleak hillside in December -- One with no home-bound, work-worn Traveller to cover -- One with no nestling to hover. There is ample sap at her roots Waiting to rise at the reach Of recurring spring ... But she is tired, cold, out-worn, Not rousing, nor caring to remember That spring follows close on December -- That she may be again, a little later, Verdant, voluptuous shelter and mother -- With torn travellers to cover And helpless nestlings to hover. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NURSE'S SONG, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 1: 8. DEPARTURE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE UNDERWOODS: BOOK 2: 6. THE SPAEWIFE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |