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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37543" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Witch-Hazel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The last lone aster in the wood has died,<br> And taken wings, and flown;<br>The sighing oaks, the evergreens' dark pride,<br>And shivering beeches, keep their leaves alone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From the chill breath of late October's blast<br> That all the foliage seared,<br>Even the loyal gentian shrank at last,<br>And, gathering up her fringes, disappeared.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wood is silent as an unswept lute;<br> Color and song have fled;<br>Only the brave black-alder's brilliant fruit<br>Lights the sear deadness with its living red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But what is this wild fragrance that pervades<br> The air like incense-smoke?<br>Pungent as spices blown in tropic shades,<br>Subtle as some enchanter might evoke.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not like the scent of flower, nor drug, nor balm,<br> Nor resins from the East,<br>Yet trancing soul and sense in such a charm<br>As holds us when the thrush's song has ceased.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mysterious, gradual, like the gathering dews,<br> And damp, sweet scents of night,<br>Whence is this strange aroma that imbues<br>The lone and leafless wood with new delight?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And while the questioner drinks,withparted lips,<br> The mystical draught — behold!<br>A wondrous bush, beplumed from root to tips<br>With crimped and curling bloom of shredded gold!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not even the smallest leaf or hint of green<br> Is mingled with its sprays,<br>But every slender stem and twig is seen<br>Haloed with flickerings of yellow blaze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What wizard, wise in spells of drugs and gums,<br> With weird divining-rod<br>Conjures this luminous loveliness that comes<br>As if by magic from the frozen sod?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fearless witch-hazel! braver than the oak<br> That dares not bloom till spring,<br>Thus to defy the frost's benumbing stroke<br>With challenge of November blossoming!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet it has an airy, delicate grace<br> Denied all other flowers,<br>And lights the gloom as some beloved face<br>Dawns on the dark of melancholy hours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Miraculous shrub, that thus in frost and blight<br> Smilest all undismayed,<br>And scatterest from thy wands of golden light<br>A sudden sunshine in the chilly glade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sprite of New England forests, he was wise<br> Who gave thee thy quaint name,<br>As, threading wind-stripped woods, with awed surprise<br>He first beheld thy waving fan of flame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Chase+Allen">Elizabeth Chase Allen</a> from <i>Century Magazine, vol. 49</i><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=37543" data-title="Witch-Hazel de Elizabeth Chase Allen" data-description="The last lone aster in the wood has died,/ And taken wings, and flown;/The sighing oaks, the evergreens' dark pride,/And shivering beeches, keep their leaves alone./From the chill breath of late October's blast/ That all the foliage seared,/Even t..."></div>
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