Reflection in Winter


Reflection in Winter
The Black and White of Winter


Very old are the woods;
        And the buds that break
Out of the brier's boughs,
        When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are--
        Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
        Roves back the rose.

Very old are the brooks;
        And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath
        The azure skies
Sing such a history
        Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
        As Solomon.

Very old are we men;
        Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
        By Eve's nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
        But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
        Of amaranth lie.

All That's Past by Walter De La Mare



Back to Season's Changing

1