Table of Contents   Previous Chapter   Next Chapter

RICHARD WATSON DIXON

1833-1900

801                                                 Willow

The feathers of the willow
Are half of them grown yellow
  Above the swelling stream;
And ragged are the bushes,
And rusty now the rushes,
  And wild the clouded gleam.

The thistle now is older,
His stalk begins to moulder,
  His head is white as snow;
The branches all are barer,
The linnets song is rarer,
  The robin pipeth now.

 

Table of Contents   Previous Chapter   Next Chapter