winters - Popular Poems and stories from category

Gleam'd the red sun athwart the misty
Which veil'd the cold earth from its loving gaze,
Feeble and sad as hope in sorrow's hour —But for thy soul it still had warmth and power;
Not to its cheerless beauty wert thou blind;

The winter comes;
I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own The winter is the spring

Behold, my fair, where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rise,
The naked hill, the leafless grove,
The hoary ground, the frowning skies

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: