Poem
Spring and Autumn
Green ripples singing down the corn,
With blossoms dumb the path I tread,
And in the music of the morn
One with wild roses on her head.
Now the green ripples turn to gold
And all the paths are loud with rain,
I with desire am growing old
And full of winter pain.
One poem every morning.
6,130 poems from Shakespeare to Tupac. Read one a day. Save the ones that stay.
Free on the App Store.