Sure though the light that led me through the day

and hastens quickly to its wint’ry bed

should deign to paint the clouds like kids at play:

spilling flame and orange overhead,

and though the shadows gath’ring round would dance

their undulating coldness as the wane

of mirthful brightness turns at last askance

and closes like a curtain ’round the plain,

though geese fly honking off and gone beyond

still bestowing music as they go,

though hill and sky re-echo and respond

and coming coldness grips like frozen flow,

still I will hold each memory in keep,

and greet the dayspring when I rise from sleep.