Winter Dusk

by Sara Teasdale

I watch the great clear twilight
  Veiling the ice-bowed trees;
Their branches tinkle faintly
  With crystal melodies.

The larches bend their silver
  Over the hush of snow;
One star is lighted in the west,
  Two in the zenith glow.

For a moment I have forgotten
  Wars and women who mourn—
I think of the mother who bore me
  And thank her that I was born.

Monadnock Valley Press > Teasdale