Now is the season of slow days Returned with woodsmoke curling high; The melancholy time of year When wild geese give their lonely cry. The ghost of you comes back to me, And chirps the cricket mournfully At night beneath my cold grey stone. Must it always be thus for me? Grey are the ashes on my hearth; Grey will my thoughts be evermore Since you are gone and I am left To see charred wings upon the floor. Dead ashes in my heart -- and dead The leaves that fall upon the rain! Dark memories surge and stare at me, Dear God! must autumn come again? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MEMORY OF THE PLAYERS IN A MIRROR AT MIDNIGHT by JAMES JOYCE THE JAIN BIRD HOSPITAL IN DELHI by WILLIAM MEREDITH PURSUIT OF THE WORD by ROBERT FROST SQUIRE BOWLING GREEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS AFTER PARTING by SARA TEASDALE ON THE ROAD TO CHORRERA by ARLO BATES THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD: PASTORAL 3. THE HAPPY COUNTRYMAN by NICHOLAS BRETON |