THE twigs of the birch imprint the December sky Like branching veins upon a thin old hand; I think of summer-time, yes, of last July, When she was beneath them, greeting a gathered band Of the urban and bland. Iced airs wheeze through the skeletoned hedge from the north, With steady snores, and a numbing that threatens snow, And skaters pass; and merry boys go forth To look for slides. But well, well do I know Whither I would go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PALINGENESIS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE WEAVER'S APPRENTICE by AL-RUSAFI THE SISTERS by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PSALM 21. DOMINE IN VIRTUTE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |