WITH sullen thoughts in chilly bosom cherish'd, I travel sullen through the world so cold; The autumn's end hath come, a humid mist doth hold Deep veil'd from sight the country drear and perish'd. The winds are piping, hither, thither bending The red-tinged leaves, that from the trees fall fast, The bare plain steams, the wood sighs 'neath the blast, The worst of all comes next -- the rain's descending! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LONELY DEATH by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE BRITISH CHURCH by GEORGE HERBERT TO LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD, WITH MR. DONNE'S SATIRES by BEN JONSON THE GREAT BLACK CROW by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY |