DISHEVELLED leaves creep down Upon that bank to-day, Some green, some yellow, and some pale brown; The wet bents bob and sway; The once warm slippery turf is sodden Where we laughingly sat or lay. The summerhouse is gone, Leaving a weedy space; The bushes that veiled it once have grown Gaunt trees that interlace, Through whose lank limbs I see too clearly The nakedness of the place. And where were hills of blue, Blind drifts of vapour blow, And the names of former dwellers few, If any, people know, And instead of a voice that called, 'Come in, Dears,' Time calls, 'Pass below!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTERGLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BUT NOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL AUTUMN SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS A PSALM OF TRAVEL by GEORGE SANTAYANA GOOD-BYE DOROTHY GAYLE: ST. CLOUD, MINNESOTA by KAREN SWENSON |