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.
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List
SIGN UP NOW!
Sign up for our poetry club and we'll let you know whenever we launch a new event, competition or service!
Get On The List