Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come-
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.
The Wheel
William Butler Yeats
(4)
Poem topics: summer, good, time, winter, spring, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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