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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
4.
To-night upon thy roof the snows are lying;The Christmas snows lie heavy on thy trees:
A dying dirge that soothes the year in dying
Swells from thy woodlands on the midnight breeze.
Our loss is ancient: many a heart is sighing
This night, a late one, or by slow degrees
Healssome old wound, to God's high grace replying:—
A time there was when thou wert like to these.
Where art thou? In what unimagined sphere
Liv'st thou, sojourner, or no transient guest?
By whom companioned? Access hath she near,
In life thy nearest, and beloved the best?
What memory hast thou of thy loved ones here?
Hangs the great Vision o'er thy place of rest?
Christmas, 1860.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |