NOT yet was winter come to earth's soft floor, The tideless wave, the warm white road, the shore, The serried town whose small street tortuously Led darkling to the dazzling sea. Not yet to breathing man, not to his song, Not to his comforted heart; not to the long Close-cultivated lands beneath the hill. Summer was gently with them still. But on the Apennine mustered the cloud; The grappling storm shut down. Aloft, aloud, Ruled secret tempest one long day and night, Until another morning's light. O tender mountain-tops and delicate, Where summer-long the westering sunlight sate! Within that fastness darkened from the sun, What solitary things were done? The clouds let go, they rose, they winged away; Snow-white the altered mountains faced the day, As saints who keep their counsel sealed and fast, Their anguish over-past. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: FINDING OF THE BODY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MY MOTHER by EDGAR ALLAN POE SONNET: 109 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SPIRIT OF THE SABBATH by ISIDORE G. ASCHER PROLOGUE TO DRAMA ..... ANNIVERSARY OF CARRS' MARRIAGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A DREAM by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |