Christmas Eve
By Ella Higginson
Straight thro’ a fold of purple mist
The sun goes down—a crimson wheel—
And like an opal burns the sea
That once was cold as steel.
With pomp of purple, gold and red,
Thou wilt come back at morrow’s dawn…
But thou can’st never bring, O Sun,
The Christmas that is gone!
Copyright © by the author.
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