Monday, February 27, 2012
The blue dark of my windows fades away
And over all a flood of colder light
Is softly spreading,
Till through the mist I see the dull red leaves.
The pure, chill air of dawn blows on my face,
And in the room the sheets grow white again.
A robin's song drops in the quiet air
So sad and fresh and incomplete.
The Sea Fog
The fields below me are sodden and gray and the fog has blurred the line of the hills.
I sit by the hedge and think that every year the darkness will grow closer around me.
The fog has crept up and all is a sea of whiteness;
My face is wet with its gentle touch, and I can only see a few steps in front of me on the road.