TALK not of sad November, when a day Of warm, glad sunshine fills the sky of noon, And a wind, borrowed from some morn of June, Stirs the brown grasses and the leaf-less spray. On the unfrosted pool the pillared pines Lay their long shafts of shadow: the small rill, Singing a pleasant song of summer still, A line of silver, down the hill-slope shines. Hushed the bird-voices and the hum of bees, In the thin grass the crickets pipe no more; But still the squirrel hoards his winter store, And drops his nut-shells from the shag-bark trees. Softly the dark green hemlocks whisper: high Above, the spires of yellowing larches show, Where the woodpecker and homeloving crow And jay and nut-hatch winter's threat defy. O gracious beauty, ever new and old! O sights and sounds of nature, doubly dear When the low sunshine warns the closing year Of snow-blown fields and waves of Arctic cold! Close to my heart I fold each lovely thing The sweet day yields; and, not disconsolate, With the calm patience of the woods I wait For leaf and blossom when God gives us Spring! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 68 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE WILD DUCK'S NEST by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH STEADFASTNESS; THE LOVER BESEECHETH HIS MISTRESS by THOMAS WYATT SONNET: 8 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 1 by WILLIAM BASSE FACTORY-GIRL by MAXWELL BODENHEIM AMERICAN CRADLE SONG by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE |