Summer is gone with all its roses. Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers, Its warm air and refreshing showers: And even Autumn closes. Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, And Winter comes which is yet colder; Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder, And the last buds cease blowing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OFFICE PARTY: DISTAFF VIEW by KAREN SWENSON LINES WRITTEN IN AN OVID by MATTHEW PRIOR BE STILL, MY SOUL by ARCHILOCHUS FRIDAY NIGHT by ISIDORE G. ASCHER WINTER FANTASY by ADELE BABBITT ON THE DEITY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |