Frail branches pierce the silent sky
The sun is dipped in silver dye
The moon looks like a frozen plate
And shivers down on country gates.
The stars are hid in hoary capes
Like glass, their splintered, gleaming shapes
Are paused upon the glitt'ring eye
Of lakes in dead, unflowing rye.
A puff of ice, a twirl of cloud
Are equably caught in the shroud
Of sky and stars and frozen moon
That spread across the winter gloom.
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