Grey dawn, you welcome not my spirit to the day.
Locked deep in winter’s embrace, the depths of January
Are moribund of hope, and I can but think on Spring
To keep from despair and an endless sojourn in the soft arms of sleep.
The day does not begin but seeps in, in sluggish batches from the East.
The watery light of a half-begotten sun
Has barely strength enough to banish night and makes us only think
Ever of indoors, indoors!
Why weighs my spirit so this season’s lack?
There is good to take in it I’m sure, yet here,
Stood here, this Janus’d morn, with heaven swathed in grey
I cannot find it, and must survive with heavy heart
these bleak mid-winter days.