Winter Dusk
The black pines, and the pale-gold moon,
And the cold blue sky,
And the drumming whir of small hid wings
In the bush close by;
And the sober rose in the leaden sheen
Of the sedgy lake—
This beauty feeds and heals my heart
It used to break.
This joy that was a restless pang,
Pain-edged, sword-bright,
Now wraps me in stern tenderness,
Secure delight.
I have come home to the heart of things,
Made friends with pain,
And God has given me sevenfold
And the cold blue sky,
And the drumming whir of small hid wings
In the bush close by;
And the sober rose in the leaden sheen
Of the sedgy lake—
This beauty feeds and heals my heart
It used to break.
This joy that was a restless pang,
Pain-edged, sword-bright,
Now wraps me in stern tenderness,
Secure delight.
I have come home to the heart of things,
Made friends with pain,
And God has given me sevenfold
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