THE warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying, And the year On the earth her deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling For the year; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling; Come, months, come away, Put on white, black, and gray; Let your light sisters play -- Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOVER IN HELL by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET STORIES ARE MADE OF MISTAKES by JAMES GALVIN DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 5. THE DANCING GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE AWAKENING by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A LETTER ON THE USE OF MACHINE GUNS AT WEDDINGS by KENNETH PATCHEN |