Snow

The moon, like a round device On a shadowy shield of war, Hangs white in a heaven of ice With a solitary star.

The wind is sunk to a sigh, And the waters are steeled with frost; And gray in the eastern sky The last snow-cloud is lost.

White fields, that are winter-starved; Black woods, that are winter-fraught; And Earth like a face death-carved With the iron of some black thought.