Advent I heard the bell tolling, and I paused, And stretched my hand to the window; far below The shadowy trees were spangled white with frost. Heaven took the people from me, and I tread The path of wanderers or of those who pass, And all I saw was the world’s beauty fled.

And every evening set with purple light, A candle burning on an altar cast Glorious shadows round my heart, that light, That shape of the Beloved and the Night, Is there beneath the veil of woodland grass And in the courses the gray mountains wear.

• William Butler Yeats