Wan mists enwrap the still-born day;
The harebell withers on the heath;
And all the moorland seems to breathe
The hectic beauty of decay.
Within the open grave of May
Dishevelled trees drop wreath on wreath;
Wind-wrung and ravelled underneath
Waste leaves choke up the woodland way.
The grief of many partings near
Wails like an echo in the wind:
The days of love lie far behind,
The days of loss lie shuddering near.
Life's morning-glory who shall bind?
It is the evening of the year.
The Evening Of The Year
Mathilde Blind
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Poem topics: beauty, grief, life, loss, evening, morning, year, grave, open, waste, Valentine's Day, breathe, love, wind, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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