“O winter! wilt thou never, never go?”

O Winter! wilt thou never, never go? O summer! but I weary for thy coming, Longing once more to hear the Luggie flow, And frugal bees, laboriously humming. Now the east-wind diseases the infirm, And they must crouch in corners from rough weather; Sometimes a winter sunset is a charm,— When the fired clouds, compacted, blaze together, And the large sun dips red behind the hills. I, from my window, can behold this pleasure; And the eternal moon, what time she fills Her orb with argent, treading a soft measure, With queenly motions of a bridal mood, Through the white spaces of infinitude.

Collection: 
English
David Gray
Sub Title: 
III. The Seasons

More from Poet

  • “O winter! wilt thou never, never go?”

    O Winter! wilt thou never, never go? O summer! but I weary for thy coming, Longing once more to hear the Luggie flow, And frugal bees, laboriously humming. Now the east-wind diseases the infirm, And they must crouch in corners from rough weather; Sometimes a winter sunset is a charm,— When the...

  • “Die down, O dismal day”

    Die down, O dismal day, and let me live; And come, blue deeps, magnificently strewn With colored clouds,—large, light, and fugitive,— By upper winds through pompous motions blown. Now it is death in life,—a vapor dense Creeps round my window, till I cannot see The far snow-shining mountains, and...

  • The Golden Wedding

    O Love, whose patient pilgrim feet Life’s longest path have trod, Whose ministry hath symbolled sweet The dearer love of God,— The sacred myrtle wreathes again Thine altar, as of old; And what was green with summer then, Is mellowed, now, to gold. Not now, as then, the Future’s face Is...

  • The Cross of Gold

    The fifth from the north wall; Row innermost; and the pall Plain black—all black—except The cross on which she wept, Ere she lay down and slept. This one is hers, and this— The marble next it—his. So lie in brave accord The lady and her lord, Her cross and his red sword. And, now, what seekst...

  • Divided

    The half-world’s width divides us; where she sits Noonday has broadened o’er the prairied West; For me, beneath an alien sky, unblest, The day dies and the bird of evening flits. Nor do I dream that in her happier breast Stirs thought of me. Untroubled beams the star, And recks not of the...