The cold earth slept below;



Above the cold sky shone;



And all around,



With a chilling sound,



From caves of ice and fields of snow



The breath of night like death did flow



Beneath the sinking moon.







The wintry hedge was black;



The green grass was not seen;



The birds did rest



On the bare thorn’s breast,



Whose roots, beside the pathway track,



Had bound their folds o’er many a crack



Which the frost had made between.







Thine eyes glow’d in the glare



Of the moon’s dying light;



As a fen-fire’s beam



On a sluggish stream



Gleams dimly—so the moon shone there,



And it yellow’d the strings of thy tangled hair,



That shook in the wind of night.







The moon made thy lips pale, beloved;



The wind made thy bosom chill;



The night did shed



On thy dear head



Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie



Where the bitter breath of the naked sky



Might visit thee at will.









