 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
NO SONGS IN WINTER
The sky is gray as gray may be,
There is no bird upon the bough,
There is no leaf on vine or tree.
There is no bird upon the bough,
There is no leaf on vine or tree.
In the Neponset marshes now
Willow-stems, rosy in the wind,
Shiver with hidden sense of snow.
Willow-stems, rosy in the wind,
Shiver with hidden sense of snow.
So too 't is winter in my mind,
No light-winged fancy comes and stays:
A season churlish and unkind.
No light-winged fancy comes and stays:
A season churlish and unkind.
Slow creep the hours, slow creep the days,
The black ink crusts upon the pen—
Wait till the bluebirds and the jays
And golden orioles come again!
The black ink crusts upon the pen—
Wait till the bluebirds and the jays
And golden orioles come again!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |