Winter—aback sweeps the inward eye, Fleet o'er the trail to a rose-wreathed sky, Girt by a cordon of dreams I dwell Deep in the heart of the old-time spell. Almost, the tones of your whispered word, Almost! the thrill that your dear lips stirred, Almost!! that wild pulsing throb again— Almost!!!— ('Tis winter, the falling rain). | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE WITH NOBODY IN IT by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE HOLLY TREE by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE MORAL FABLES: THE WOLF AND THE LAMB by AESOP SONNET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ABRAHAM by JOHN STUART BLACKIE |