Page:Poems Blake.djvu/53

While in cloak of russet gray,
Nature hides her bloom away
         With December.

Yet we know that, sleeping sound,
Life is waiting underground;
Till beneath his April skies
God shall bid it once more rise,
Warmth and light and beauty rest,
Hushed and calm, upon the breast
         Of December.

So, though sometime winter skies
Hide the summer from our eyes,
Taking from its old time place
Some dear form of love and grace,
We can wait, content to bear
Barren fields and frosted air,
         Through December;

We can wait, till some sweet dawn
Finds the shadows backward drawn,
And beneath its rosy light
May time flushes, warm and bright,
Bring again the bloom that fled
When the earth lay cold and dead
         In December.