A weft of leafless spray Woven fine against the gray Of the autumnal day, And blurred along those ghostly garden tops Clusters of berries crimson as the drops That may heart bleeds when I remember How often, in how many a far November, Of childhood and my children's childhood I was glad, With the wild rapture of the Fall Thrilling from me to them, of all The ruin now so intolerably sad. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WINSOME WEE THING by ROBERT BURNS THE PILLAR OF FAME by ROBERT HERRICK THE SONG OF THE SHIRT by THOMAS HOOD HABEAS CORPUS by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON THE LOVER TO THE THAMES OF LONDON TO FAVOUR HIS LADY ... by GEORGE TURBERVILLE THE DESPAIRING LOVER by WILLIAM WALSH (1663-1707) |