A mist hangs over the morning like snow, it hurts the leaves on the birches so, that they fall, yellow, and flutter, dumb, and every leaf to the ground would come. We walk behind the leaves wind-blown, they fly away into the unknown. I follow as blindly when you go by— Oh, take me too when you come to die. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOY OF THE HILLS by EDWIN MARKHAM NO PLATONIQUE LOVE by WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT GROWING OLD by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE FRATER AVE ATQUE VALE by ALFRED TENNYSON PREFATORY POEM TO MY BROTHER'S SONNETS by ALFRED TENNYSON THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH MYRTILLA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA BETRAYED by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS TO MR. BARBAULD, WITH A MAP OF THE LAND OF MATRIMONY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |