Empire of Frost

Too early, in an angry flight,
the sun went down and hid his light;
he sank beyond the skyline’s deep
and there withdrew to hide and sleep.

In winter, dark and thin and cold,
the empire of the chill took hold;
across the frozen, silent land
it stretched a pale and bloodless hand.

Beneath the white and downy snow
a wild, unpeopled solitude
lay sleeping in its quietude.

the earth was hushed, and breathing slow;

Through ancient trees, thick-trunked and tall,
a single ray of light let fall
upon the mist’s soft cheek, and there
it broke and scattered everywhere.

Through my coarse blanket’s ragged weave
the cold wind seeps and will not leave;
it pricks my bones with bitter ache
and makes my very marrow shake.

The wind-bird, with its vacant eye,
goes seeking where its nest may lie.

The dust has settled on my panes,
and ice has left its cloudy stains;
their colours, dimmed by winter’s frost,
lie faded, and their brightness lost.

Above the rime-clad leaves’ crisp sigh
the dread of silence reigns on high.

Above the valley’s floor
a pot of oil stands chill;
it froze before it bore
a flame, and now stands still.