The lily's withered chalice falls Around its rod of dusty gold, And from the beech trees on the wold The last wood pigeon coos and calls. The gaudy leonine sunflower Hangs black and barren on its stalk, And down the windy garden-walk The dead leaves scatter, -- hour by hour. Pale privet-petals white as milk Are blown into a snowy mass: The roses lie upon the grass Like little shreds of crimson silk. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HAD I THE CHOICE (AFTER WALT WHITMAN) by GEORGE SANTAYANA SONGS OF INNOCENCE: INTRODUCTION by WILLIAM BLAKE THE ODYSSEY: THE GARDENS OF ALCINOUS by HOMER PHILOMELA by JOHN CROWE RANSOM AT BETHLEHEM: 1. THE CHILD by JOHN BANISTER TABB THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): THE MOVING ROCKS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS |