Dear Bessie, would my tired rhyme Had force to rise from apathy, And shaking off its lethargy Ring word-tones like a Christmas chime. te and still. Upon the crumbling boards the snow Has drifted deep, the clappers hang Prismed with icicles, their clang Unheard since ages long ago. The rope I pull is stiff and cold, My straining ears detect no sound Except a sigh, as round and round The wind rocks through the timbers old. Below, I know the church is bright With haloed tapers, warm with prayer; But here I only feel the air Of icy centuries of night. Beneath my feet the snow is lit And gemmed with colours, red, and blue, Topaz, and green, where light falls through The saints that in the windows sit. Here darkness seems a spectred thing, Voiceless and haunting, while the stars Mock with a light of long dead years The ache of present suffering. Silent and winter-killed I stand, No carol hymns my debt to you; But take this frozen thought in lieu, And thaw its music in your hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG [WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1732] by GEORGE LYTTELTON THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 101 by OMAR KHAYYAM ZOLA by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON THE CALL OF THE WILD by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE NO PLEDGES by FLORA J. ARNSTEIN WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HIS POEMS, FOR CHLORIS by ROBERT BURNS OSCHOPHORIKON; VINTAGE PROCESSIONAL by RHYS CARPENTER |