GROW old and die, rich Day, Over some English field -- Chartered to come away What time to Death you yield! Pass, frost-white ghost, and then Come forth to banish'd men! I see the stubble's sheen, The mist and ruddled leaves, Here where the new Spring's green For her first rain-drops grieves. Here beechen leaves drift red Last week in England dead. For English eyes' delight Those Autumn ghosts go free -- Ghost of the field hoar-white, Ghost of the crimson tree. Grudge them not, England dear, To us thy banished here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL by FRANCOIS VILLON TO A CYCLAMEN by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ANTONIO by LAURA ELIZABETH HOWE RICHARDS THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION: BOOK 2 by MARK AKENSIDE VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF SARAH CANDLER by BERNARD BARTON LULLABY IN BETHLEHEM by HENRY HOWARTH BASHFORD |