GRAY sky; gray lane; A flaw of rain; Loud crows midway in air, That go, and leave it bare. But whence, By the torn fence, This hushed thing with shape of flame? And whither came, This yellow gust blown down the grass Of Hallowmas? Holds the old Year, remembering, A moment of last spring? Or, far beyond this weather vext, A moment of the next? Holds he the twain in one, The April gone, the April not begun? -- In these dim stalks, wind-lapped and bright, Driven all one way like candlelight? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAINY SEASON by CLARENCE MAJOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SAILORS' [OR MARINERS'] SONG by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES NOVEMBER, 1806 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE MORAL FABLES: THE TRIAL OF THE FOX by AESOP SABBATH MORNING by L. DALE AHERN SPRING'S UNFOLDING by IRENE ARCHER |