Soon Shall the Winter’s Foil Be Here
Soon shall the winter's foil be here; Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt—A little while, And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and growth—a thousand forms shall rise From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves. Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attributes—all that takes cognizance of natural beauty, Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the delicate miracles of earth, Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers, The arbutus under foot, the willow's yellow-green, the blossoming plum and cherry; With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs—the flitting bluebird; For such the scenes the annual play brings on.
Posted on 19/10/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged 19th Century Poetry, American literature, American poets, Daily Whitman, free verse, Leaves of Grass, literature, poems, poetry, Transcendentalists, Walt Whitman. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.