Here you will find the Poem Dark spring of poet Yvor Winters
My mother Foresaw deaths And walked among Chrysanthemums, Winecolored, Withered rose, The earthy blossoms. My very breath Disowned In nights of study, And page by page I came on spring. The rats run on the roof, These words come hard--- Sadder than cockcrow In a dreamless, earthen sleep. The Christ, eternal In the scented cold; my love, Her hand on the sill White, as if out of earth; And spring, the sleep of the dead.