DISHEVELLED leaves creep down Upon that bank to-day, Some green, some yellow, and some pale brown; The wet bents bob and sway; The once warm slippery turf is sodden Where we laughingly sat or lay. The summerhouse is gone, Leaving a weedy space; The bushes that veiled it once have grown Gaunt trees that interlace, Through whose lank limbs I see too clearly The nakedness of the place. And where were hills of blue, Blind drifts of vapour blow, And the names of former dwellers few, If any, people know, And instead of a voice that called, 'Come in, Dears,' Time calls, 'Pass below!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMOMILE TEA by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER NOCTURNAL SKETCH; BLANK VERSE IN RHYME by THOMAS HOOD SONNET: 87 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE MESSIAH by MABEL WARREN ARNOLD GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 6 by RICHARD BARNFIELD TO SIR JOHN SPENSER KNIGHTE, ALDERMAN OF LONDON by RICHARD BARNFIELD |