THE twigs of the birch imprint the December sky Like branching veins upon a thin old hand; I think of summer-time, yes, of last July, When she was beneath them, greeting a gathered band Of the urban and bland. Iced airs wheeze through the skeletoned hedge from the north, With steady snores, and a numbing that threatens snow, And skaters pass; and merry boys go forth To look for slides. But well, well do I know Whither I would go! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO A FRIEND WRITING ON CABARET DANCERS by EZRA POUND THE LAWYERS KNOW TOO MUCH by CARL SANDBURG PROSIT NEUJAHR by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE BALINESE WITCH DOCTOR by KAREN SWENSON ON THE DEATH OF SWINBURNE by SARA TEASDALE FIVE TREES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BALLAD MADE AT THE REQUEST OF HIS MOTHER .. PRAY TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON |