BLACK ponds and boughs of clay and sulky sedge Make their dull answer to the inquiring eye; With worrying weakness wrens flit through the hedge, And black rooks blot the south's thin jaundice sky; Black over heavy plough the lonely inn Stares without message at the far black mill, The dry leaves creep, one even dares to spin, The sun's last wish dies ere it reach the hill. With wrapt throat in the courtyard of the farm Maid waits for maid; bells call them, arm-in-arm, To Advent prayer; the half-lit church is waiting. Emmanuel, come! now, parson, hail that light -- God knows we need one in this glum black night, When even the owls and bats are hesitating. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE by WILLIAM MCKENDREE CARLETON THE TEACHER by LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL OH, MOTHER DEAR! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS THE ORGAN GRINDER by RONALD WALKER BARR PSALM 84: THE SPARROW by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE FLOWER DAY by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE FACTORY-GIRL by MAXWELL BODENHEIM |