The Wheel Poem by William Butler Yeats
The Wheel
Rating: ★3.3
THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come --
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.
Thursday, May 17, 2001
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4/26/2024 3:36:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
seasons come and go in a wheel but at one stage as we age old there is no spring coming for us and what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.......beautiful poem with a message