When all the fields are crisp and furred with frost,
tell me not the whole of summer’s lost,
I still see red rose petals bright.
And when the grey clouds loose their blinding snow,
the hollows fill with brilliance, pristine glow,
for darkness is obverse of light,
the fullest ringing comes from hollow bells,
silence between the notes when music swells,
starlight shines only in dark night.