When the Year grows Old

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

1892-1950

I cannot but remember
         When the year grows old --
October -- November --
         How she disliked the cold!

She used to watch the swallows
         Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
         With a little sharp sigh.

And often when the brown leaves
         Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
         Made a melancholy sound,

She had a look about her
         That I wish I could forget --
The look of a scared thing
         Sitting in a net!

Oh, beautiful at nightfall
         The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
         Rubbing to and fro!

But the roaring of the fire,
         And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
         Were beautiful to her!

I cannot but remember
         When the year grows old --
October -- November --
         How she disliked the cold!

DayPoems Poem No. 1486
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1486.html">When the Year grows Old by Edna St. Vincent Millay</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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