The leaves lie dead about my feet— Fair summer's mantle cast aside; And shrill the glooming winds repeat The moaning of my heart's sad tide. I know not where the days have sped; I only know that long ago A dear One kissed my lips and fled. The blinding sleet of winter's woe Beats on me with a friendly touch, And mingles with my tears, that flow Unceasingly and overmuch— A joy of old each tear I shed; But may it be through tears I 'll see The sunshine and be comforted? Dead, all the bloom and harvest time, And all the hopes and high delight; And, over all, the fatal rime Of winter's chill and love's sad night— Oh, tell me, lost one! dost thou tread The joyous ways of perfect days, Or art thou, as thou seemest, dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WAY OF THE CONVENTICLE OF THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH PLEDGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON LOHENGRIN; PROEM by EMMA LAZARUS SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ALFRED MOIR by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE ALTAR by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |