A January Twilight
The air is starred with snowy flakes,
The spruces prick the sky,
And not a lonely pine tree breaks
The silence with a sigh.
Between the wastes of level white
And the cloud-drift dim and gray,
In tasselings of tender light
Beauty consoles the day.
They lose full many a scene like this
Who flee our winter rude,
As hearts that turn from sorrow miss
Its hushed beatitude.
The spruces prick the sky,
And not a lonely pine tree breaks
The silence with a sigh.
Between the wastes of level white
And the cloud-drift dim and gray,
In tasselings of tender light
Beauty consoles the day.
They lose full many a scene like this
Who flee our winter rude,
As hearts that turn from sorrow miss
Its hushed beatitude.
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