When voices of children are heard on the green, And whisperings are in the dale, The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, My face turns green and pale. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise; Your spring and your day are wasted in play, And your winter and night in disguise. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD'S BEING by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE LEAVES by HAYDEN CARRUTH A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS WHAT THING A BIRD WOULD LOVE by ROBERT FROST MATE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |