Classic Poem

Large , slow snowflakes fall from an ashen heaven: the noisy
Hum and hubbub of life no more go up from the town.

Hushed is the cry of the vendor of herbs, the rumble of waggons,
Hushed are the voices that sang blithely of youth and of love.

Harsh thro' the throbbing air the chimes from the tower o'er the market
Moan, like the sigh of a world far from the daylight withdrawn.

Tap on the frosted panes, birdlike, forlorn, the belovèd
Ghosts of old friends who return, calling on me to depart.

Soon, dear ones, very soon—O strong heart, calm thyself—I too
Shall to the silence descend, lay me to rest in the gloom.