Poems (Cromwell)/Early Snow
EARLY SNOW
Above the forest line There's been a fall of snow At variance with autumn's ray; Yet trees, the color of wine, Whispered hours ago: "Frost is on the way."
Oh, past our narrow view, There comes a drift of Death, To love, anomalous and strange: Yet whispering poets knew: They marked the dying breath, Divined the law of change.