#Dawn turned on her #Purple #Pillow,
And #Late, late, came the #Winter day;
#Snow was curved to the #Boughs of the #Willow,
The sunless #World was #White and #Grey.
At #Noon, we heard a #BlueJay scolding,
At #Five, the last #Cold #Light was #Lost
From blackened #Windows faintly holding
The #Feathery #Filigree of #Frost.
The #Night is darkening round me,
The #Wild #Winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant #Spell has bound me
And I #Cannot, cannot go.
The giant #Trees are bending
Their bare #Boughs weighed with #Snow.
And the #Storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond #Clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing #Drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
- Emily #Brontë, #English #Novelist & #Poet, #Spellbound
#Poetry #Poem #Writer #Woodland #Forest
#Trapped #Stuck #HoldFast #Captive
The #Vine #Leaves against the #Brick #Walls of my #House,
Are rusty & #Broken.
Dead leaves gather under the #Pine #Trees,
The brittle #Boughs of #Lilac #Bushes
Sweep against the #Stars
- Amy Lowell, #November
She also wrote:
All #Books are either #Dreams or #Swords,
You can #Cut, or you can #Drug, with #Words.
#Autumn #Poetry #Gardening #Garden #Poet #Nature
#Sunday #GardenersofMastodon
Jennifer Ebeling