AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY

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The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
          The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
          That glimmer red.

The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
          The road o'er the plain;

While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
          A funeral train.

The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
          To the dismal knell;

Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And toiling within
          Like a funeral bell.