Green ripples singing down the corn,
With blossoms dumb the path I tread,
And in the music of the morn
One with wild roses on her head.
Now the green ripples turn to gold
And all the paths are loud with rain,
I with desire am growing old
And full of winter pain.
Spring And Autumn
Francis Ledwidge
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Poem topics: music, pain, rain, winter, desire, head, wild, gold, green, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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