Each sapless leaf that lingers here Where bare woods mourn Shall soon upon Wind's silvery bier Be gravewards borne. The bees have left our honey-bowers, The birds are fled; And 'neath the blight of frost our flowers Have fallen—dead! Yon meadow now, where grass grew green, No grazing yields: No bells are heard, no flocks are seen In far, fenced fields. Where children played till all the ground Was wet with dew, Autumn, to-day, with threatening sound Snow trumpets blew. Fear not November's challenge bold— We've books and friends; And hearths that never can grow cold: These make amends! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HERETIC: 1. BLASPHEMY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER EIGHT O'CLOCK by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TURN O LIBERTAD by WALT WHITMAN SIX TOWN ECLOGUES: SATURDAY; THE SMALL-POX by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU JIM'S WHISTLE by ALEXANDER ANDERSON SONGS OF NIGHT TO MORNING: 1. AT THE THEATRE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |