Patrick Kavanagh

In Winter

Cold sunlight glinting on the rocky fields of cloud,
The high shrill note of Winter's happy piper
Rises and lifts my dreamer far above the crowd.
Love comes again to the narrow day and riper
Than ever it was when Summer's apron flapped
Upon a drying line. The spacious time 
Has gathered up its little things, but we have rapped
On Beauty's golden counter half sublime.
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