Shadows (Howe)/Before the Snow

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BEFORE THE SNOW
THE yellow flame of goldenrodIs spent, and by the road instead,The flowers, like smoke-wreaths o'er the sod,    Hang burned and dead.
The sumac cones of crimson show Beyond the roadside, black and charred;The trees, a bloodless, ashen row,    Stand autumn-scarred.
Dark are the field-fires of the year; Let all the flickering embers die!Without, the cold white days are near; Within are warmth—and you, and I.
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