Autumn There is wind where the rose was; Cold rain where sweet grass was; And clouds like sheep Stream o'er the steep Grey skies where the lark was. Nought gold where your hair was; Nought warm where your hand was; But phantom, forlorn, Beneath the thorn, Your ghost where your face was. Sad winds where your voice was; Tears, tears where my heart was; And ever with me, Child, ever with me, Silence where hope was.

Winter Clouded with snow The bleak winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now. The rayless sun, Day's journey done, Sheds its last ebbing light On fields in leagues of beauty spread Unearthly white. Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost-fires kindle, and soon Over that sea of frozen foam Floats the white moon.