DIM hour by hour through autumn's wane The silkweed lets her plumes adrift: They rove -- they sink -- and yet again Upon the wavering breeze they lift. No count is made of where they roam; They are not found, they are not lost, -- Soft wanderers without a home, Yet scathless to the sworded frost. Not otherwise dim hour by hour I shed white thoughts into the wind, -- Sole drift of my life's vanished flower: They are not lost -- yet none may find. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENT ON DEATH by FRANCOIS VILLON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY by ROBERT AYTON DREAM SONG: 2 by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 26 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN AMORETTI: 15 by EDMUND SPENSER |