94
MRS. DOWN-STARS
Who knows no song save mournful requiem,
No step for dancing on a snow-drift save
Macaber click of hollow yellow bones
And shuffle of ghostly feet. O January,
Shake out no moan from her, and be no urge
To her unwilling feet; oh, let her sink
Gently to earth in her good time and season,
To dreams, to dreamlessness; and cover her,
Cover her softly with your drift of snow,
As tenderly as this gaunt birch let fall
Her leaves and bedded down her saplings three
Against the coming of a cold, cold winter.
No step for dancing on a snow-drift save
Macaber click of hollow yellow bones
And shuffle of ghostly feet. O January,
Shake out no moan from her, and be no urge
To her unwilling feet; oh, let her sink
Gently to earth in her good time and season,
To dreams, to dreamlessness; and cover her,
Cover her softly with your drift of snow,
As tenderly as this gaunt birch let fall
Her leaves and bedded down her saplings three
Against the coming of a cold, cold winter.
