When autumn fills the valleys That dream of summer still, The first thin snow of winter Lies white on Pompey Hill. The rain that falls on stubble In harvest fields below Drifts lightly down on Pompey As feather-crystal snow. In spring the angry torrents Down all the gullies run Before the Pompey snowfields Yield to the mounting sun. The wooded slopes in April With trilliums are set While Pompey Hill is swelling Its icy freshets yet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 2 by EZRA POUND CESAR FRANCK by JOSEPH AUSLANDER S. GREGORIE NAZIANZEN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT LOUISA; A TALE by JANE BOWDLER THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: THE MAGIC LAND by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 3. AH! BLESSED IS HE by EDWARD CARPENTER LESS THAN KIN by ISABEL FISKE CONANT |