It was that time of the year, cold and bleak, old dry leaves still on the ground, patches of snowlingering everywhere in the landscape. I had passed the old cemetery hundreds of times. Thistime there was a hint of sun.early springrust down the sideof a gravestone
It sounded as if the Streets were runningAnd then -- the Streets stood still --Eclipse -- was all we could see at the WindowAnd Awe -- was all we could feel.By and by -- the boldest stole out of his CovertTo see if Time was there --Nature was in an Opal Apron,Mixing fresher Air.
'Twas here my summer pausedWhat ripeness after thenTo other scene or other soulMy sentence had begun.To winter to removeWith winter to abideGo manacle your icicleAgainst your Tropic Bride.
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.