The smoky wind, raw throated, blows A harsher note, with sterner spite; The acorn stains the squirrel's nose, The bee planes home in solo flight. So silent is the shadowed wood, A quail call echoes in the sky; I know a startling interlude When a wing opens and brushes by. Yet in this solitary place I hear deep voices sound a tune That in the long and far-off days, I never heard in June. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUTH PENETRANT by CONRAD AIKEN CAMPUS SONNET: BEFORE AN EXAMINATION by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET CAMPUS SONNET: TALK by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET COUNTRYWOMEN by KATHERINE MANSFIELD OLD TRAILS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |