To Her Spirit at Winter Solstice
Now the year ends darkly.
The sun drifts in the south.
Will it ever return?
And you force me in the cold to gather red berries
Up early in mist, breaking the branches -
The musky smell of the toyon -
Will this be enough?
Look down, spirit, from your height of fire,
Look from the skiff crossing the black river.
Call back the sun that lingers.
Shall I bring only remembering
Who cannot bring flowers? for the cold
Grows deep and dark where you linger.
And the ship of fire goes farther
Toward some chill cape of waves and darkness.
Hold fast in the rough riding.
o blown spirit, do not draw me
To those chill tides
Where I too cast my offerings
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Comments about this poem (To Her Spirit at Winter Solstice by Ann Stanford )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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