The dear old ladies whose cheeks are pink In spite of the years of Winter's chill, Are like the Autumn leaves I think, A little crumpled, but lovely still. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OPPOSITES by KATHERINE MANSFIELD WHITE NOCTURNE by CONRAD AIKEN GHOSTS OF A LUNATIC ASYLUM by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE CHANGED WOMAN by LOUISE BOGAN WISDOM COMETH WITH THE YEARS by COUNTEE CULLEN A POEM FROM BOULDER RIDGE by JAMES GALVIN |