AGRAY old hag, in cloak and hood Of somber gray, Gleaning gray twigs and bits of wood At close of day, November creeps across the land Yet magic gifts are in her hand -- Her fagots cold need but a spark And hearth-stone room, And warmth of June from out the dark Will burst to bloom. Of foster-mothers tenderest, Close-harboring Earth's sleeping seeds within her breast Until the spring, Let gray November clasp the land. Yet from her lean but kindly hand Let us, dear heart, her fagots take, And on this stone A warm and cheery June-time make; Our own, our own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESOLATE FIELD by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS EPISTLE TO MRS. BLOUNT, WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE by ALEXANDER POPE THE DYING SWAN by ALFRED TENNYSON GRAND IS THE SEEN by WALT WHITMAN SONNET: 8 by RICHARD BARNFIELD DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: DIRGE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |