We must fare into the silence
At the knees of God.
Little comrades of the sky,
Wing to wing we wander by,
Going, going, going, going,
Softly as a sigh.
And to make the season-cycle complete, and also to show the delicacy of imagination with
which Mr. Roberts invests every changing aspect of his well-loved outer world, here are two stanzas on “The Frosted Pane”:
One night came Winter noiselessly, and leaned
Against my window-pane.