Explore "Winter In The Boulevard" by D.H. Lawrence on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
THE frost has settled down upon the trees / And ruthlessly strangled off the fantasies / Of leaves that have gone unnoticed, swept like old / Romantic stories now no more to be told.
The trees down the boulevard stand naked in thought, / Their abundant summery wordage silenced, caught / In the grim undertow; naked the trees confront / Implacable winter's long, cross-questioning brunt.
Has some hand balanced more leaves in the depths of the twigs? / Some dim little efforts placed in the threads of the birch?-- / It is only the sparrows, like dead black leaves on the sprigs, / Sitting huddled against the cerulean, one flesh with their perch.
The clear, cold sky coldly bethinks itself. / Like vivid thought the air spins bright, and all / Trees, birds, and earth, arrested in the after-thought / Awaiting the sentence out from the welkin brought.