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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BOLLESWOOD, by                    
First Line: Now is bolleswood buried deep
Last Line: All is silent, all is still.
Subject(s): Death; Forests; Dead, The; Woods

Now is Bolleswood buried deep,
All in snowdrifts, all asleep;
Nowhere is the smallest sound
Save of fine snow blown around,

Or the rustling of a blade
That would make the wind afraid --
With its scimitar for stem
Crusted like a diadem.

Under brambles banked in sleet,
And with no nest except their feet,
Ruffling, settling, quail and grouse
Turn, and turn, to make a house;

Snow for roof, and snow for walls,
Snow for stairway, snow for halls,
Snow for doorstone, snow for sill;
All is silent, all is still.

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