I IF seasons all were summers, And leaves would never fall, And hopping casement-comers Were foodless not at all, And fragile folk might be here That white winds bid depart; Then one I used to see here Would warm my wasted heart! II One frail, who, bravely tilling Long hours in gripping gusts, Was mastered by their chilling, And now his ploughshare rusts. So savage winter catches The breath of limber things, And what I love he snatches, And what I love not, brings. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SPROUTING BOARD by AL-ISRA'ILI THE HOUSE-WARMING; A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YARD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM BROADWAY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE MAPLE TREE OVER THE WAY by LEVI BISHOP THE BOOK OF LOS by WILLIAM BLAKE PIRATE TREASURE by BERTON BRALEY SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 31 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |