December

From the sad leaves withdrawn, Remote, estranged and cold, Forgetful autumn's gold Alone abides in some December dawn. Tearless and clear and chill As eyes that have forgot Far love, or find it not, The pale bright heavens arch the barren hill. Now, in this afternoon Enchanted, blue and brief, The year has lost its grief In valleys mute below the spectral moon. For here no mourning-dove Laments the season flown: On love that wanders lone Falls the blue balm of silence from above. For here no zephyr grieves To tell the year's dead dream; And down the pine-lulled stream Lost memories drift and loiter with the leaves.