COLD, cold the year draws to its end, The crickets and grasshoppers make a doleful chirping. The chill wind increases its violence. My wandering love has no coat to cover him. He gave his embroidered furs to the Lady of Lo, But from me his bedfellow he is quite estranged. Sleeping alone in the depth of the long night In a dream I thought I saw the light of his face. My dear one thought of our old joys together, He came in his chariot and gave me the front reins. I wanted so to prolong our play and laughter, To hold his hand and go back with him in his coach. But, when he had come he would not stay long Nor stop to go with me to the Inner Chamber. Truly without the falcon's wings to carry me How can I rival the flying wind's swiftness? I go and lean at the gate and think of my grief, My falling tears wet the double gates. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL by WILLIAM BLAKE IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE INCENSE BURNER by ABUS SALT A SONG OF LABOUR; DEDICATED TO MY FELLOW-WORKERS WITH PICK AND SHOVEL by ALEXANDER ANDERSON MAGUS MUIR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: 3. OF CONTENTMENT by WILLIAM BASSE A FAREWELL by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |