Ina Donna Coolbrith (Ина Донна Кулбрит)
December
Now the Summer all is over! We have wandered through the clover, We have plucked in wood and lea Blue-bell and anemone. We were children of the Sun, Very brown to look upon; We were stained, hands and lips, With the berries' juicy tips. And I think that we may know Where the rankest nettles grow, And where oak and ivy weave Crimson glories to deceive. Now the merry days are over! Woodland-tenants seek their cover, And the swallow leaves again For his castle-nests in Spain. Shut the door, and close the blind: We shall have the bitter wind, We shall have the dreary rain Striving, driving at the pane. Send the ruddy fire-light higher; Draw your easy chair up nigher; Through the winter, bleak and chill, We may have our summer still. Here are poems we may read— Pleasant fancies to our need. Ah, eternal Summer-time, Dwells within the Poet's rhyme! All the birds' sweet melodies Linger in these songs of his; And the blossoms of all ages Waft their fragrance from his pages.
Ina Donna Coolbrith’s other poems:
Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):
