An icy wind sweeps up the dim-lit street And pulls the trellis-vines awry; It whips the blood from stinging hands and feet; The mottled clouds are frozen to the sky. Yet, lawless, furtive forms still ply Their ugly trades, up to the flush of dawn, As leaves, protesting—vainly—fly, And trees stand starkly nude upon the lawn. The Frost King, rabid, unrelenting, reigns— Employs such artistry as he desires; His workmen, deft, impound our windowpanes; He hurls defiance to our hottest fires— In truth, he rouses all our latent ires, From early, twilight eve to misty dawn; Of hurtling laggard leaves, he never tires— Our trees stand starkly nude upon the lawn. ... The morning breaks; the angry wind soughs down; Ice-artists, spent, creak to their hiding place; A frigid calm pervades—enfolds the town; The air is thick with steely, stinging lace, And aching feet are spurred to quickened pace. Mist—moisture, everywhere, is held in pawn ... We seek the outer world, with anxious face— But, trees stand starkly nude upon the lawn. Envoy Thus go the nights with lordly, ruthless tread, As stars wink out their tapers, overhead; Though flawless art prevails, some beauty's gone— Our trees stand starkly nude upon the lawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE GREAT DEATH by HAYDEN CARRUTH ODE TO THE BROWN PAPER BAG by JAMES GALVIN I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW TO -, WITH A ROSE by SIDNEY LANIER THE ROAD TO AVIGNON by AMY LOWELL DEAF HOUSE AGENT by KATHERINE MANSFIELD |