Poem – Christmas 1915


A cold, dull sky-a grey and biting wind
The level downs-the dead and leafless trees
The still, sad air-the quiet dreariness
All this and more my spirit does oppress.
My heart cries out for colour, sun, and light,
My soul demands some tinted gorgeousness,
Blueness and gold and crimson; brilliant skies,
And all that makes the earth a joyous place.
I feel again the glories I have known,
The sparkling radiance of the summer air,
The wonder of the glory of the hills,
The grandeur of the rocky mountain clear
Against the opal of an evening sky.
Sadly I wend my lonely way along.
But as I round the corner of a road
I chance to look away towards the west
And there I hold my breath for one brief space.
The dull grey clouds are massing overhead,
Yet tinged with red, and radiant where they show
Their crimson edges tipped with sunset light:
Golden and purple, amethyst and grey:
And grey the slender, lovely, lonely spire,
Pointing to where the rainbow spirits see
Perchance all as in a golden haze below.
To them not matters Time, or Day, or Night,
While we in our brief stay and little life
Forget the loveliness and joy we have
Is only taken from us for a space,
That new and greater Beauty we may find
In grey and white as well as in the gold.
Not always can the restless spirit rise
On brilliant sun-splashed many-coloured wings:
On soft and dove-like pinions, grey and blue,
A soul may soar, and thus may find her peace.