New Year


Now the pale sun towers once more to gleam
Out of the East, like a songless moon

Over this bared expanse, this out-worn model

Of an abundance nearly lapsed of account;

To light, yes--to betray these disrobed boughs,

Divested by that same sun of their leaves;

To glow without warmth, so like a faithless creed

Before which we kneel, hailing, "Ah! The light

Of the truth." Such we are beneath this glare--

Abject actors who cannot attain

The most meager of all artistry. This

Is winter. 


            How somberly the moon

Had toned upon the snow at Christmas. 

Surely the spring must come again.