Sunshine

Flat as a drum-head stretch the haggard snows;

The mighty skies are palisades of light;

The stars are blurred; the silence grows and grows;

Vaster and vaster vaults the icy night.

Here in my sleeping-bag I cower and pray:

“Silence and night, have pity! stoop and slay.”

I have not slept for many, many days.

I close my eyes with weariness — that's all.

I still have strength to feed the drift-wood blaze,

That flickers weirdly on the icy wall.

I still have strength to pray: “God rest her soul,

Here in the awful shadow of the Pole.”

There in the cabin's alcove low she lies,

Still candles gleaming at her head and feet;

All snow-drop white, ash-cold, with closed eyes,

Lips smiling, hands at rest — O God, how sweet!

How all unutterably sweet she seems....

Not dead, not dead indeed — she dreams, she dreams.