On An Autumn Sketch Of H.G. Wild

A poem by James Russell Lowell

Thanks to the artist, ever on my wall
The sunset stays: that hill in glory rolled,
Those trees and clouds in crimson and in gold,
Burn on, nor cool when evening's shadows fall.
Not round these splendors Midnight wraps her pall;
These leaves the flush of Autumn's vintage hold
In Winter's spite, nor can the Northwind bold
Deface my chapel's western window small:
On one, ah me! October struck his frost,
But not repaid him with those Tyrian hues;
His naked boughs but tell him what is lost,
And parting comforts of the sun refuse:
His heaven is bare,--ah, were its hollow crost
Even with a cloud whose light were yet to lose!

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'On An Autumn Sketch Of H.G. Wild' by James Russell Lowell

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy