The Wheel

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.

by William Butler Yeats

Comments (1)

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