Friday, December 5, 2008

High Street in Early December

Don't fret for naked trees
Or coming chill.
December's austere mysteries
Have beauty still.
There is an arch revealed by barren limbs
And students hand-in-hand.
This image calls for hymns.
A nearer sun would bathe the walls
In vernal gold;
But keep your summers, springs and falls:
The year and spires are old,
And we are young—and these shall always be the same.
Yale needs no leafy frame.

No comments: