There is no colour in the world today; the sky is leaden; trees are etched in steel; the vines that climb on dusty poles are grey; the road, dull thread, unwinding from a reel. There is no joy in such a day as this. The wind has swept the colour from the world. At the Beginning, with a rasping hiss, on such a day, the nettle leaves uncurled. And yet . . . and yet, could it be that my mind was so submerged in grey I did not see the wind had left a splash of red behind in rowan berries clustered on a tree? Like vivid drops of pidgeon's blood they sway more vivid, since their background is so grey. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHING-DAY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD A SWEET LULLABY by NICHOLAS BRETON THE ONE GRAY HAIR by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD by WALTER RALEIGH PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN EASTER (TO A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |