Winter’s Mass

Here upon the clouded dim,
With winter snow abounding,
The hidden path of footed trim,
Brings hush-ed still surrounding.

No better place this hillock be,
With poet's pipe profounding,
As city lights reveal to me,
My rhymes of night, resounding.

The night is young by present stars,
And I am young in years.
What words could bless the lighted mars,
Or still the ceaseless tears?

I suppose there are woods dark and deep,
But time's my choosing before I sleep.
I'll spare an hour's time to pass,
To listen to the winter's mass.

That in this peace I may forget,
The wear-dimmed eyes the world begets
Sorrows traded, and sorrows laid down,
Thus, in the night, new hope is found.

For here upon the clouded dim,
With winter snow abounding,
The stars on high renewing limb,
And still my soul, astounding.