I NATURE like a Crown doth wear,
This chill pale sky,
And Winter in her silver weeds,
As if to say
That all the cheer and praise of life,
May dwindle in decay.

But now
Light is turned to darker shadows—
And Nature hath enwrapped her smile
In folds of thoughtful icy tremble,
For the bright reds have lost their glow,
And deftly now the ancients know
The sting of frost so real,
Yet even in this twilight age,
A nightingale sings sweet and still.

Such a song in phantom flow,
Can shed all thoughts of yearning woe!
It reaches out to comfort me,
And wraps me like a velvet robe,
Of love and life bound in the quite,
As Nature holds the quiet soul.

— Jones Very

• Jones Very