Friday, January 17, 2014

A feather now my page will keep

The Realms of South America can wait;
I need a moment to rest my eyes;
to recline my head and contemplate,
with listless limbs and weary sighs;
       while birches shiver out in the chill
       and scrape across my windowsill;
and, like so many moths, the snow
beats with softness on the glass
amid a dull and spectral glow
arising from the frosted grass.
      The candle flickers beside my bed;
      the pillow calls my nodding head;
the Andes, lofty in the light
shining broad in warmer climes,
must now await another night:
the yonder church bell rang three times!
      A feather now my page will keep
      as I succumb at last to sleep.

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