GRAY is the sky, Yet no gray I see; The wind has a sad cry, Yet not sad to me; Summer dies by the dull fires Of the last roadside flowers, But in my heart is April And the cool feet of showers. O blessed thief Who has stolen away The woe from the wind, The drab from the gray! O sweet translator Of every word of grief Into the warmth of joy And strong belief! Frail are your hands For so strong a part, Yet you have conquered My unconquerable heart. You have done, O so swiftly, What the gods failed to do: You have made the hills strong again And the stars true. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO A MAN WORKING HIS WAY THROUGH THE CROWD by MARIANNE MOORE OLD OSAWATOMIE by CARL SANDBURG SONNET: 50 by GEORGE SANTAYANA DUSK IN WAR TIME by SARA TEASDALE |