THE pale sun, through the spectral wood, Gleams sparely, where I pass: My footstep, silent as my mood, Falls in the silent grass. Only my shadow points before me, Where I am moving now: Only sad memories murmur o'er me From every leafless bough: And out of the nest of last year's Redbreast Is stolen the very snow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SYMPATHETIC PORTRAIT OF A CHILD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS NIGHTINGALES by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES MY AIN COUNTREE by ALLAN CUNNINGHAM JOAN OF ARC IN RHEIMS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE OLD MAN AND JIM by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY |