Winter

When winter comes along the river line And Earth has put away her green attire, With all the pomp of her autumnal pride, The world is made a sanctuary old, Where Gothic trees uphold the arch of gray, And gaunt stone fences on the ridge's crest Stand like carved screens before a crimson shrine, Showing the sunset glory through the chinks. There, like a nun with frosty breath, the soul, Uplift in adoration, sees the world Transfigured to a temple of her Lord; While down the soft blue-shadowed aisles of snow Night, like a sacristan with silent step, Passes to light the tapers of the stars.