Woods and coppices by tempest lashed; Pollard shockheads glaring in the rain; Jet-black underwood with crimson splashed- Rich November, one wet crimson stain! Turf that whispered moistly to the tread; Bursts of laughter from the shuffled leaves; Pools of light in distant arbours spread; Depths of darkness under forest eaves. High above the wind the clouds at rest Emptied every vat and steeply hurled Reservoirs and floods; the wild nor'west Raked the downpour ere it reached the world; Part in wanton sport and part in ire, Flights of rain on ruddy foliage rang: Woven showers like sheets of silver fire Streamed; and all the forest rocked and sang. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S FASTING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE by EDMUND SPENSER THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL by OSCAR WILDE LOVE AND LIFE. A SONG by JOHN WILMOT THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS BUDDHA AND BRAHMA by HENRY BROOKS ADAMS THE BLUEBIRD by WILLIAM P. ALEXANDER LATIMER AND RIDLEY, BURNED AT THE STAKE IN OXFORD, 1555 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |