THOUGH Winter come with dripping skies, And laden winds and strong, Yet I'll read summer in her eyes Whose voice is summer's song. Who grieves because the world is old, Or cares how long it last, If no gray threads are in our gold, The shade our marbles cast, How, creeping near, we may not see? Time's heirs are Love and I, And spend our minted days -- Ah, me! For anything they'll buy. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON BEING ASKED FOR A WAR POEM by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS UNCLE OUT O' DEBT AN' OUT O' DANGER by WILLIAM BARNES THERE HE GOES by BERTON BRALEY ONLY THE HEART IS HAUNTED by VERNE BRIGHT MARCH FIELDS by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE PUK-WUDJIES by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS |