Christmas

Put out the lights now!

Look at the Tree, the rough tree dazzled

In oriole plumes of flame,

Tinselled with twinkling frost fire, tasselled

With stars and moons – the same

That yesterday hid in the spinney and had no fame

Till we put out the lights now.

Hard are the nights now:

The fields at moonrise turn to agate,

Shadows are cold as jet;

In dyke and furrow, in copse and faggot

The frost’s tooth is set;

And stars are the sparks whirled out by the north wind’s fret

On the flinty nights now.