The music of the morning is red and warm; <br />Snow lies against the walls; <br />And on the sloping roof in the yellow sunlight <br />Pigeons huddle against the wind. <br />The music of evening is attenuated and thin — <br />The moon seen through a wave by a mermaid; <br />The crying of a violin. <br />Far down there, far down where the river turns to the west, <br />The delicate lights begin to twinkle <br />On the dusky arches of the bridge: <br />In the green sky a long cloud, <br />A smouldering wave of smoky crimson, <br />Breaks in the freezing wind: and above it, unabashed, <br />Remote, untouched, fierly palpitant, <br />Sings the first star.<br /><br />Conrad Potter Aiken<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/improvisations-light-and-snow-15/
