Some of that August day's long-dead delight
Came back to me, as on a winter hill
I saw red sunset fall away and spill
Its scattered jewels on the lap of night.
We two had always been so calm, so still,
That silence was not lonely, and despite
The shadow deepening over the snowy white,
A warmth, as of your presence, smote the chill.
Whatever men may call the real, the true,
This much I know indeed, that an immense
And actual radiance such as only you
Have ever given to my mortal sense
Gleamed on the hillside and then vanished hence;
And all that winter night the south wind blew.