Hold your hands to the blaze;
Winter is here
With the short cold days,
Bleak, keen and drear.
Was there ever a day
With hawthorn along the way
Where you wandered in mild mid-May
With your dear?
That was when you were young
And the world was gold;
Now all the songs are sung,
The tales all told.
You shiver now by the fire
Where the last red sparks expire;
Dead are delight and desire:
You are old.
Winter
Edith Nesbit
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Poem topics: fire, red, winter, world, dear, desire, young, cold, delight, gold, hold, short, Valentine's Day, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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