English poem
The Golden-Rod
by Margaret Deland (1857–1945)
O Rod of gold! O swaying sceptre of the year— Now frost and cold Show Winter near, And shivering leaves grow brown and sere. The bleak hillside, And marshy waste of yellow reeds, And meadows wide Where frosted weeds Shake on the damp wind light-winged seeds, Are decked with thee,— The lingering Summer's latest grace, And sovereignty. Each wind-swept space Waves thy red gold in Winter's face— He strives each star, In stormy pride to lay full low; But when thy bar Resists his blow, Will crown thee with a puff of snow!