"I know I must be old (how age deceives!) ..."

Photo by Brent Winter Sleep by Edith Matilda Thomas   I know it must be winter (though I sleep)-- I know it must be winter, for I dream  I dip my bare feet in the running stream,  And flowers are many, and the grass grows deep.    I know I must be old (how age deceives!)  I know I must be old, for, all unseen,  My heart grows young, as autumn fields grow green  When late rains patter on the falling sheaves.    I know I must be tired (and tired souls err)--  I know I must be tired, for all my soul  To deeds of daring beats a glad, faint roll,  As storms the riven pine to music stir.    I know I must be dying (Death draws near)--  I know I must be dying, for I crave  Life--life, strong life, and think not of the grave,  And turf-bound silence, in the frosty year.      Today's poem is in the public domain.

"Winter Sleep" by Edith Matilda Thomas was published in A Winter Swallow, With Other Verse (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1896). Thomas acknowledged that her work was greatly influenced by the American poet Helen Hunt Jackson.

The Winter Is Cold, Is Cold -- A Poem for this Season of Wonder

The winter is cold, is cold.
All’s spent in keeping warm.
Has joy been frozen, too?
I blow upon my hands
Stiff from the biting wind.
My heart beats slow, beats slow.
What has become of joy?

If joy’s gone from my heart
Then it is closed to You
Who made it, gave it life.
If I protect myself
I’m hiding, Lord, from you.
How we defend ourselves
In ancient suits of mail!

Protected from the sword,
Shrinking from the wound,
We look for happiness,
Small, safety-seeking, dulled,
Selfish, exclusive, in-turned.
Elusive, evasive, peace comes
Only when it’s not sought.

Help me forget the cold
That grips the grasping world.
Let me stretch out my hands
To purifying fire,
Clutching fingers uncurled.
Look! Here is the melting joy.
My heart beats once again.

--by Madeleine L’Engle