To-night the very horses springing by <br /> Toss gold from whitened nostrils. In a dream <br /> The streets that narrow to the westward gleam <br /> Like rows of golden palaces; and high <br /> From all the crowded chimneys tower and die <br /> A thousand aureoles. Down in the west <br /> The brimming plains beneath the sunset rest, <br /> One burning sea of gold. Soon, soon shall fly <br /> The glorious vision, and the hours shall feel <br /> A mightier master; soon from height to height, <br /> With silence and the sharp unpitying stars, <br /> Stern creeping frosts, and winds that touch like steel, <br /> Out of the depth beyond the eastern bars, <br /> Glittering and still shall come the awful night.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-evening-2/
