Classic Poem

SWEET are the winter fields;
The quiet winter fields of brown and gray,
And green, and tawny yellow, like the manes
Of Asiatic lions; lonely plains
Of pleasing desolation, whence the yields
Of sumptuous summer, have been borne away;
Long silent lands, — haunts of the wandering air
Which breathes out, sighing, from the woodlands bare;
How sad — how sweet, are they!