Winter Twilight

Along the wintry skyline,

Crowning the rocky crest,

Stands the bare screen of hardwood trees

Against the saffron west,—

Its gray and purple network

Of branching tracery

Outspread upon the lucent air,

Like weed within the sea.

The scarlet robe of autumn

Renounced and put away,

The mystic Earth is fairer still,—

A Puritan in gray.

The spirit of the winter,

How tender, how austere!

Yet all the ardor of the spring

And summer's dream are here.

Fear not, O timid lover,

The touch of frost and rime!

This is the virtue that sustained

The roses in their prime.

The anthem of the northwind

Shall hallow thy despair,

The benediction of the snow

Be answer to thy prayer.

And now the star of evening

That is the pilgrim's sign,

Is lighted in the primrose dusk,—

A lamp before a shrine.

Peace fills the mighty minster,

Tranquil and gray and old,

And all the chancel of the west

Is bright with paling gold.

A little wind goes sifting

Along the meadow floor,—

Like steps of lovely penitents

Who sighingly adore.

Then falls the twilight curtain,

And fades the eerie light,

And frost and silence turn the keys

In the great doors of night.