58
Christmas Night.
With Handel I seemed communing, Till my spirit was almost lostTo earth's discords and untuning, Her warfare, bloodshed and frost.
Then I fell into listless musing, Dreamily fingered the chords,The harmony still unloosing, That could find no vent in words.
In gloaming light, on Christmas night, I sate at my organ playing,While fitful gleams from the sea-coals bright, The garments of night were fraying.
They shadow'd my room in spectral gloom, They frescoed my walls of gray,Tho' glint of gold and a scarlet plume Deck'd the shroud of the dying day.
Bath, 1862.
