Pointed icicles hung on my porch in the moonlight Glittering bright. Crusted snow on the lawn, mounded snow in the roadway,— Silence and night! Crouched little houses, where windows were blank, and the sleepers Breathed or lay still! Into my heart stole the silent fruition of winter,— Warmth in the chill. Often and often my heart too hath known its deep winter Of pride white and cold, Drifted with bitterness, clogged with its vanities, smothered With Self, from of old. Not a withdrawing in chill for a nobler fruition As this of the Earth; Only for sensitive whim, or a pose superficial, A cynical mirth! Now, of the hearts that are mine, that are sleeping above me, Lord, let me learn, Ere to thy splendor of stars, thine ineffable moonlight, I must return! Lest in my Spring I have put on the armor of Winter, Following a wraith,— Lest a deep cold hath benumbed me forever and ever In my unfaith! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARMAGEDDON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON NIGHTS WITHOUT SLEEP by SARA TEASDALE THE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR [MARCH 9, 1862] by GEORGE M. BAKER SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 50 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL ASOLANDO: THE LADY AND THE PAINTER by ROBERT BROWNING |