  The iron twilight closes, and the steep Gates of the day where late the light was hurled, Swing to on silent hinges, and a sleep, A still, white sleep is fallen on the world. There is no stir these trackless miles around: The Earth is turned a grey cathedral close, Where is forgot all motion and all sound, Beneath these smooth, obliterating snows. One burning taper trembles ... and the sky Curves like a dome where cloudy anthems are, Above immaculate distances that lie In thoughtful adoration of a star ... Earth has her veil, and takes her silent vow: Nothing save holiness is left her now. |
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