THE Dawn creeps laggard now into the wood; For he she loved, her God with golden hair, Summer, has slipped off to the south somewhere, And all his birds have followed, like a flood. In vain she asks the trees, "Why did he fly?" In tattered cloaks close-folded they are dumb: For Autumn, that brown gipsy child, has come, And filled their hearts with piping wild and high. He has sung Summer gone and Winter near: And has consoled their grief with promises Of coats well-lined with gold, so, though they freeze, They will be safe from Winter, never fear. This mocking song they have misunderstood: But Dawn, in her grey lonely heart, knows all. She marks how, from the stiff boughs, dead leaves fall Each morning, as she comes into the wood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 2. ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE, 1740 by MARK AKENSIDE ROAD AND HILLS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET MY BATH by JOHN STUART BLACKIE THE VANISHED MOUNTAINS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE OF THE CHILD WITH THE BIRD AT THE BUSH by JOHN BUNYAN |