Sunday, November 1, 2009
The cold is on the autumn post:
The ice is in the vale,
The silence, like a blanket's ghost
Upon the downy dale.
A bird of crystal light and sound
Sings through the rising dawn:
It rings across the broken ground
And blesses leaf and lawn.
The hymn takes note across the field,
The pasture and the lane
It echoes in the silver shield
Of sky, and crumpled grain,
The little breast heaves heaven's tune
Without assuming why
The angels gave its reverie room
To spread its wings, and fly.