Life is now-- Immediate; Death is future: "Oh! Ghost of Xmas Future, I fear thee most." One by one The Christmases lengthen In loneliness, Until there is none But the crisp, icy snow Pressed against the midnight thigh Of the winter eve; And time drifts over us And our monuments. Nature locked in intercourse With its seasonal mistresses, Heeds not our pleas; Us, the unloved ones, lonely pickets Marking off time in the endless White drifts-- The containers of Nature Are now so contained.
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