December 21, 2014

WHEN THE YEAR GROWS OLD by Edna St. Vincent Millay


I cannot but remember 
 "She had a look about her that I wish I could forget..."
  When the year grows old—
October—November—
  How she disliked the cold!
 
She used to watch the swallows
  Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window  
  With a little sharp sigh.
 
And often when the brown leaves
  Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney 
  Made a melancholy sound,
 
She had a look about her that I wish I could forget—
The look of a scared thing sitting in a net!
 
Oh, beautiful at nightfall the soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs rubbing to and fro!
 
But the roaring of the fire,  and the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle were beautiful to her!
 
I cannot but remember when the year grows old—
October—November—  How she disliked the cold!
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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