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Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries For what has been and is not.

— George Eliot

Painterly small bird falling between bare branches over a snowy landscape.
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Our reading

An editorial interpretation.

The speaker imagines winter’s wind as mourning the summers that have passed. Sad sounds become nature’s response to what no longer exists. The opening uncertainty keeps this a poetic possibility, allowing seasonal change to resemble the grief people feel for their own losses.

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