  Come, O thou season of intense repose; Come with thy lidded eyes and crystal breath; Come gently with thy soft release of snows; And bring thy few short months of tender death. Build a huge tomb within the desert frore, With green clear chambers in the icy rift, Carve the sleep rune above the crystal door, And trench a legend in the pallid drift. Let the large stars about the horizon lie, Watching the confines of the world’s great sleep; Spread the vast province of the purple sky, With thy wan curtains dropped from deep to deep. Then hush the stir and bid the movement cease; Pass gently, leave the tired world in peace. |
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