St. Agnes' Eve Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold.
St. Agnes' EveAh, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold.john keats
Perhaps when all the world is bare And cruel winter holds the land,The Love that finds no place to hide Will run and catch my hand.I shall not care to have him then, I shall be bitter and a-cold —It grows too late for frolicking When all the world is old.Then little hiding Love, come forth, Come forth before the autumn goes,And let us seek thro' ruined paths The garden's last red rose.sara teasdale
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