The winter eve is clear and chill: <br />the world of air is folded still; <br />the quiet hour expects the moon; <br />and yon my home awaits me soon <br />behind the panes that come and go <br />with dusk and firelight wavering low: <br />and I must bid the prompting cease <br />that bids me, in this charmed peace, <br />— as tho' the hour would last my will — <br />follow the roads and follow still <br />the dream that holds my heart in trance <br />and lures it to the fabled chance <br />to find, beyond these evening ways, <br />the morning and the woodland days <br />and meadows clear with gold, and you <br />as once, ere I might dare to woo.<br /><br />Christopher John Brennan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-winter-eve-is-clear-and-chill/
