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The sky is gray as gray may be,
There is no bird upon the bough,
There is no leaf on vine or tree.
In the Neponset marshes now
Willow-stems, rosy in the wind,
Shiver with hidden sense of snow.
So too 'tis winter in my mind,
No light-winged fancy comes and stays:
A season churlish and unkind.
Slow creep the hours, slow creep the days,
The black ink crusts upon the pen--
Just wait till bluebirds, wrens, and jays
And golden orioles come again!
This poem is in the public domain.
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Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836 – 1907) was a poet, novelist, short-story writer, and editor. Born in New Hampshire but raised in New Orleans, he started writing as a teenager and moved to New York after the death of his father. While working for his uncle, he began publishing stories and poems, and became friends with a circle of other young poets and writers which included Walt Whitman. Successful in all genres, Thomas worked as a war correspondent for a time, then returned to New York to work as a magazine editor. Ultimately, he ended up in Boston as editor of Atlantic Monthly.Thomas was greatly admired for his talent during his lifetime and inspired many other successful writers, including Mark Twain--who supposedly drew his inspiration for Tom Sawyer from Thomas’ novel, Story of a Bad Boy.
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marenomitchell:
Bah humbug! There's always light in the dark!
Posted 01/09/2013 10:10 AM
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