In the Age of the Year
Reading edition
Is it the wizard wind That has shriveled the quince’s rind? Sooth, we know it was he Who shook the leaves from the tree And danced them out of breath Till they wizened away in death! Strange and subtile powers Have rule of these ashen hours, Binding the stricken sphere In this, the age of the year. Through the crispèd grass and the husk Rustle the feet of the Dusk; And the only song we know Is the back-log’s murmur low. Then come, and sit with me By the side of Memory And Love, with the bluet skies In her spring-reverting eyes, And there shall be vernal cheer In this, the age of the year!