Poems by Helen Hunt Jackson

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No days such honored days as these! When yet
Silence again. The glorious symphony
The lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Still lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
O winter! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
Some flowers are withered and some joys have died;
O month whose promise and fulfilment blend,
Month which the warring ancients strangely styled
O month when they who love must love and wed!
This is the treacherous month when autumn days
The month of carnival of all the year,
O golden month! How high thy gold is heaped!
I.

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