Wintersmead

At Wintersmead I watched the snow

Make ceremony of the draggled trees,

Blanket the sunken lawn with loveliness

And star the pane with quaint embroideries.

The snow was in my mood that day,

My torn heart welcomed its blank purity

Softening the edges of long-wintered thought,

Whitening the sepulchre of memory,

Snow, sleep, deep winter slumber, death!

Ah! Wintersmead, thine icy breath

Shrivels all sense! Come, lay a wreath

Upon the grave of dreams, whisper a prayer

That summer's uneasy life shall no more waken there.

Angus Victor Scallon

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