At Winter’s End


And in the end I fell beneath a blight,
A slumber in a prison I bestow.
Upon my mind, within the ice below,
Where winter’s hold is clasping on so tight,
In isolated sleep, escape the fight,
And there, upon my gentle bed of snow
I feel the soft release of slumber grow,
So deep within a prison dream of night,
But now the dawn has risen o’er my ease;
O, pierce the ice and bed that I contrive!
Then calling to an old, forgotten drive
Lost somewhere deep within the helices;
That ancient thirst, that hunger to survive,
On wings of robins’, finally, arrive.