The herald redbreast sings his winter lays, The fieldfares drift in flocks adown the weald: The turbulent rooks gather on every field, And clamorous starlings dare our garden-ways: O beautiful garden-ways, not grown less dear Because the rose has gone, and briony waves Where lily and purple iris have their graves, Or that, where violets were, the asters rear. Lo, what a sheen of colour lingers still; Though the autumnal rains and frost be come: The tall dishevelled sunflowers; stooping, spill Lost rays of sunshine o'er the tangled mould; While everywhere, touched with a glory of gold, Flaunts the imperial chrysanthemum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISAPPOINTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR INLAND by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE MOTHER by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE PERPLEXITY by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA WHY PLAGUE ME, LOVES? by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS THIRD YPRES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN VERSES: THE FIFTH BOY by JOHN BYROM |