Hoar-Frost - Poem by Amy Lowell
In the cloud gray mornings
I heard the herons Flying
And when I came into my garden,
My silken outer-garment
Trailed over withered leaves.
A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,
But I have seen many Autumns
With herons blowing like smoke
Across the sky.
Comments about Hoar-Frost by Amy Lowell
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Read poems about / on: sky
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You