Inside, gray smoke curls up, Outside, white flakes troll down Against bare maple trees In an old New England town. Earth lags securely sealed To any tropic gust, Like a plain New England heart Indifferent to lust. Nestled in little hills A waning breed of men Birth-date their headstones -- What is left then? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CREDO by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE OCTOROON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE COLOR SERGEANT by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON SONG FOR A VIOLA D'AMORE by AMY LOWELL SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR BUCOLIC COMEDY: KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID by EDITH SITWELL |