THE WARMTH of life is quenched with bitter frost; <br />Upon the lonely road a child limps by <br />Skirting the frozen pools: our way is lost: <br />Our hearts sink utterly. <br /> <br /> <br />But from the snow-patched moorland chill and drear, <br />Lifting our eyes beyond the spirëd height, <br />With white-fire lips apart the dawn breathes clear <br />Its soundless hymn of light. <br /> <br /> <br />Out of the vast the voice of one replies <br />Whose words are clouds and stars and night and day, <br />When for the light the anguished spirit cries <br />Deep in its house of clay.<br /><br />George William Russell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/answer-24/
