THE bare trees look like spectres in a shroud; The day-old snow, half melted into rain, Lies in wet pools along the misty plain; The wan moon peeps out from a fleeting cloud. The bleak winds fleet by with their mournful wail; And low and slow a lone bird loiters by, Breaking the silence with his shrill, sad cry ... Ah, Winter's face looks lean and pinched and pale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THREE SPRING NOTATIONS ON BIPEDS by CARL SANDBURG THE CHRONICLE; A BALLAD by ABRAHAM COWLEY THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM by ROBERT SOUTHEY A PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR by LAURA F. ARMITAGE DEATH by MALTBIE DAVENPORT BABCOCK JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 4 by WILLIAM BLAKE |