THE snows of death are drifting deep, And I have nothing left to gain, Save the long legacy of sleep Beyond the reach of joy or pain. But you, the lithe and strong of thew, -- For you the onward-luring star, The splendors of the sun, -- for you Youth's ardors that eternal are; To note the spring's ecstatic stir, The faint red maple-buds unclose; To be the violet's worshiper, And play the wooer to the rose; To watch the swallow, swift of wing, Soaring across the sky's blue nave; To hear the minstrel oriole sing, A rapture in each golden stave; To know love's sweet companionship Along the wonder-haloed height; To press unto the eager lip The purple fruitage of delight. Yours the glad sowing of the grain, The harvest happiness to reap; While I have nothing left to gain, Save the long legacy of sleep! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BOATS IN A FOG by ROBINSON JEFFERS SCURVY ENTERTAINMENT by ABU ABD ALLAH THE WANDERING JEW by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER PSALM 91 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE DOWN THE RIVER by BARCROFT HENRY BOAKE INSCRIPTION IN NETHER STOREY CHURCH IN MEMORY OF RICHARD CAMPLIN by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES |