Vigil
Out in the night there are songs resounding, songs about the Christ.
Out in the night there are snows descending, slowly, quietly, moving straight downward.
The snowflakes are white nuns, oblivious, mute, and so calm of movement that no robe rustles.
The carols resound from the choir loft of the night, and are tense with an ancient enchantment.
Another year will soon have passed away to the sound of ancient songs.
Hours ago the many came home
with many bundles in their arms.
They hid the bundles mysteriously,
and about the rooms hung wreaths of holly.
Hours ago, when, like the many,
I was filled with the spirit of bringing things to others,
I brought a bundle home with me——
a globe of goldfish for my cat.
I hid the globe mysteriously,
even as the many hid their bundles.
The snowflakes are white nuns, wan, statuesque, impassible, their arms crossed, rigid.
They are heedless of hidden bundles.
They are heedless of wreaths of holly.
They are purged of the spirit of bringing mere things mysteriously to others.
They are absolved from having received.
They are oblivious of years that have passed away.
How many years have passed away since you and I first loved?
How many years did we listen together, to the singing about the Christ?
How many years have I listened alone to the carols?
This year will soon be merely another that I shall have listened alone.
At dawn the carols will all die out, lost in eternal disenchantment, but at dawn
the bells of sleighs will begin to utter, all rapturous, voicing another enchantment.
At daybreak there will appear, perchance, a merry sun, glad of returning.
In the morning the wreaths of holly will shine, the berries glow.
In the morning I shall bring from hiding the globe of goldfish.
I shall set it in the sunlight, where the fish will glitter——
where Buttons will see them. In the morning he shall catch them.
In the morning the many will bring from hiding their many bundles.
In the morning the world will be white with huddling nuns,
all silent,
obliviously silent,
as for years
we two have been——
two old lovers
purged of our love.
Out in the night there are snows descending, slowly, quietly, moving straight downward.
The snowflakes are white nuns, oblivious, mute, and so calm of movement that no robe rustles.
The carols resound from the choir loft of the night, and are tense with an ancient enchantment.
Another year will soon have passed away to the sound of ancient songs.
Hours ago the many came home
with many bundles in their arms.
They hid the bundles mysteriously,
and about the rooms hung wreaths of holly.
Hours ago, when, like the many,
I was filled with the spirit of bringing things to others,
I brought a bundle home with me——
a globe of goldfish for my cat.
I hid the globe mysteriously,
even as the many hid their bundles.
The snowflakes are white nuns, wan, statuesque, impassible, their arms crossed, rigid.
They are heedless of hidden bundles.
They are heedless of wreaths of holly.
They are purged of the spirit of bringing mere things mysteriously to others.
They are absolved from having received.
They are oblivious of years that have passed away.
How many years have passed away since you and I first loved?
How many years did we listen together, to the singing about the Christ?
How many years have I listened alone to the carols?
This year will soon be merely another that I shall have listened alone.
At dawn the carols will all die out, lost in eternal disenchantment, but at dawn
the bells of sleighs will begin to utter, all rapturous, voicing another enchantment.
At daybreak there will appear, perchance, a merry sun, glad of returning.
In the morning the wreaths of holly will shine, the berries glow.
In the morning I shall bring from hiding the globe of goldfish.
I shall set it in the sunlight, where the fish will glitter——
where Buttons will see them. In the morning he shall catch them.
In the morning the many will bring from hiding their many bundles.
In the morning the world will be white with huddling nuns,
all silent,
obliviously silent,
as for years
we two have been——
two old lovers
purged of our love.
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