SNOW DUSK

The iron twilight closes, and the steep

Gates of the day where late the light was hurled,

Swing to on silent hinges, and a sleep,

A still, white sleep is fallen on the world.

There is no stir these trackless miles around:

The Earth is turned a grey cathedral close,

Where is forgot all motion and all sound,

Beneath these smooth, obliterating snows.

One burning taper trembles... and the sky

Curves like a dome where cloudy anthems are,

Above immaculate distances that lie

In thoughtful adoration of a star...

Earth has her veil, and takes her silent vow:

Nothing save holiness is left her now.