I WILL not rail, or grieve when torpid eld Frosts the slow-journeying blood, for I shall see The lovelier leaves hang yellow on the tree, The nimbler brooks in icy fetters held. Methinks the aged eye, that first beheld The fitful ravage of December wild, Then knew himself indeed dear Nature's child, Seeing the common doom, that all compell'd. No kindred we to her beloved broods, If, dying these, we drew a selfish breath; But one path travel all her multitudes, And none dispute the solemn Voice that saith: "Sun, to thy setting; to your autumn, woods; Stream, to thy sea; and man, unto thy death!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WHITE BIRDS by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS SEVEN SAD SONNETS: 2. THE OTHER ONE COMES TO HER by MARY REYNOLDS ALDIS ETHELWALD, FR. METRICAL HISTORY OF ST. CUTHBERT by BEDE THE CEREMONY OF THE PRINTER'S APPRENTICE; A GERMAN MORALITY PLAY by WILLAM BLADES LIFE AND DEATH by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE FISHERMAN'S CHANT by FRANCIS COWLEY BURNAND |