On -- turgid, bellowing -- tramp the freshet rills, Heaped up with yellow wine, the winter's brew. Out-thrown, they choke and tumble from the hills, And lash their tawny bodies, whipping through. With flattened bells come scudding purple rain; The cold sky breaks and drenches out the snow. Far from the perfect circle of the sky The heavy winds lick off the boughs they blow; And fields are cleansed for plows to slice again, For April shall laugh downward by and by. With purifying blasts the wind stalks out And sweeps the carrion of winter on; It prods the dank mists, stamps with jest about, And sows the first blooms on the greening lawn. Far up the planks of sky the winter's dross Goes driven to the north; her rank smells wave In unseen humors to the icy pole The charwomen of the sky, with brushes, lave And wash the fields for green, and rocks for moss, And busily polish up the earth's dull soul. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH INVOCATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER LWONESOMENESS by WILLIAM BARNES TO ANTHEA [WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING] by ROBERT HERRICK ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER by JOHN KEATS THE GOOD SHEPHERD by FELIX LOPE DE VEGA CARPIO SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITOR WHEDON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |