Steadily falls the meditative snow, Or fitfully, in sudden spurts of white; Now madly driven through a raging night, Now pacing like a poet, rapt and slow; But ever, as the slaty storm-clouds go, We look upon a world of still delight, No lingering token of that falling flight, A robe of lucent peace on all below. I pray that thus the closing of my life May shine in holy white and quietness, Whatever passion or abhorrent strife May tear me now with unrelenting stress. Come, cruel storm, and wield your bitter knife: On to the waiting peace I calmly press. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 7 by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE BEING AS MOMENT by HAYDEN CARRUTH SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR IS YOUR TOWN NINEVEH? by MARIANNE MOORE THE UNDERGRADUATE KILLED IN BATTLE; OXFORD, 1915 by GEORGE SANTAYANA |