More By This Poet
At the New Year
In the shape of this night, in the still fall
of snow, Father
In all that is cold and tiny, these little birds
In everything that moves tonight, the trolleys
and the lovers, Father
The Snow Is Deep on the Ground
The snow is deep on the ground.
Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
This is a good world.
The war has failed.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the snow waits where love is.
Only a few go mad.
'Be Music, Night'
Be music, night,
That her sleep may go
Where angels have their pale tall choirs
Be a hand, sea,
That her dreams may watch
Thy guidesman touching the green flesh of the world
Be a voice, sky,
That her beauties may be counted
And the stars will tilt...