A Midwinter Night's Eve / George Dance
George Dance
No trace of summer yet; the world was dead.
The sun was slowly dying, too, and like
Some ancient monarch lay, a rotting hulk
Wrapped in robes of pure magnificence,
Of purple, liquid gold, and bleeding red
Reflecting off the few gray clouds above
Like flowers thrown upon a frozen grave.
A minute's silence for a fallen king.
The service over and the body lowered,
The day itself now buried in the past,
We see the widow slowly turn away,
Painfully pull on a cloak of black,
And wander off to seek oblivion
In dreams of reuniting with the sun.
George Dance
No trace of summer yet; the earth was dead.
The sun was slowly dying, too, and like
Some ancient monarch lay, a rotting hulk
Wrapped in robes of pure magnificence –
Of purple, liquid gold, and bleeding red,
Reflecting off the few gray clouds above
Like flowers thrown upon a frozen grave.
A minute's silence for a fallen king.
The service over and the body lowered
(The very day now buried in the past),
With halting steps the widow turns away,
Painfully pulls on her cloak of black,
And hobbles off to seek oblivion