THE cloudwrack o'er the heaven flies, The wild wind whistles on the lake, The drooping branches in the brake Mourn for the pale blue butterflies. Where is the sheen of green and gold? The sullen Winter's beard is hoar. Where are the fruits the Autumn bore? We know not, who are growing old. We pulled the dainty flowers of spring, But we were happy being young — And now when Autumn's knell is rung We wither 'neath the vampire wing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BABY'S SHOES by WILLIAM COX BENNETT NAMES by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BEAUTY ROHTRAUT by EDUARD FRIEDRICH MORIKE |