THE NEW SNOW
HE woke and missed the memorable dark. How small this day, whose too contracted skies Filled slowly from the cisterns of his eyes. A cloud he must have shed the new snow lay. He heard on the void air a sheep-dog bark, Worlds or an ignorant field away.
The pause had passed, when he could range at will Felicitously no-one, free to share Laughter and sunlight, firelight, homely fare ; Wear mortal endeavour like a seamless glove, Or sometimes choose, than stillness yet more To waste in graves, forgetful of love.
Now was the issue in anguish ; dawn of rending. Only his singular, re-conscripted breath Could fan to a purpose all that pyre his death ; Now to be flame unique alone sufficed.
Through one thin shaft one taper of smoke ascending, Paled into man how pure is Christ.
LILIAN BOWES LYON.
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