Soft-scattered at
The dark side of the earth,
Before the dawn -
(Horizoned at the beam
of feathered sunlight) -
Pricked me at the touch;
The stars fell.

And every star
In falling at my hearth
As day awoke,
(Its slow advancing seam),
The precious, flickered phantoms
Turned to dust,
While snow fell.

The children cried,
Delighted at my dearth,
As morning caught
The star in every dream,
And melted every snowdrop
Into rust,
At eve’s knell.

And once the petty
Glow that we disperse
Has flickered at
The act we can’t redeem,
May sudden sunlight
Sanctify our trust,
In Noel!

David Lewis Paget