Winter Evenings, East Suffolk
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The sun's and our days are shortening While before
solstice the visible moon fills out, What on these
lowland wide horizons lingers As though to reiterate
recall, is dusk: On the south-westerm from flame to
glimmer Slowly the glow subsides From scarlet to
roseate, amber drifts and shifts Or else to a strip of
blue Deeper than any a summer noon sustained. If a
black cloud hangs there it shines Rimmed with departing
light.
December's last leafage responds: A red so
dark on this maple It's nightfall too, detained, Wisps
of pale yellow to ochre On the rugosa stems wilting As
on those with buds for another year.
Then, moon not
yet full, whole skies Whether clouded or clear And
silver tarnishing.
Never a night is total Until
our vision, dimmed, Disowns the shapes, the shadows,
All colours mixed on palettes too far away.
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