For whether winter comes, or not, the air
Turns white; and kisses comforts all goodbye.
This is the soft descent: there’s mercy, there,
That in this ice may even winter die.
I know that born this night were many deaths:
My faith in One is scattered. At His feast
I leave donations, meagre stockings out
For roofless others in the locking-out
Of eager souls; leave snowflakes for the rest,
And weep beside the cheery mantelpiece.
I pray the living share the lights they’ve got,
That softer gods still walk amongst the living:
And whether one believes in living God,
We’ll share a love of giving.