Poem: Chance By Xu Zhimo - Poetry Nook

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Stephen and Barberie Author Gerard Manley Hopkins — She by a sycamore, Whose all-belated leaves yield up themselves To the often takings of desirous winds, Sits without consolation, marking not The time save when her tears which still [descend]┬░ Her barred fingers clasp'd upon her eyes, Shape on the under side and size and drop.┬░ Meanwhile a litter of the jagged leaves Lies in her lap, which she anon sweeps off. " This weary Martinmas, would it were summer" I heard her say, poor poor afflicted soul, — " Would it were summer-time." Anon she sang The country song of Willow . " The poor soul — ┬░ (Like me) — sat sighing by a sycamore-tree ." Perhaps it was for this she chose the place. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments In the Dark, Soft Earth$9.99 One Hundred Leaves: A new annotated translation of the Hyakunin Isshu$9.99 Monsoon Turbulence$7.99