In the gingerly cooled
and stiffening air,
it has become so clear—
gently streaming
from their slender trees,
mellow and lonesome
as the strain of a distant
solo violin,
have wended down here
just to rehearse with us—
in a generous preview
both of loss and
of unsought accumulation—
the spareness
and the mortal grandeur
of winter's quietly
coming dream.