Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul's haven to have felt.
George Meredith's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Winter Heavens by George Meredith )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
- The Saddest Poem, Pablo Neruda
- A Child's Christmas in Wales, Dylan Thomas
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Winter Solstice, Jacqueline C Nash
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
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