O WHITE wind, numbing the world 
to a mask of suffering hate! 
and thy goblin pipes have skirl?d 
all night, at my broken gate. 
 
O heart, be hidden and kept 
in a half-light colour?d and warm, 
and call on thy dreams that have slept 
to charm thee from hate and harm. 
 
They are gone, for I might not keep; 
my sense is beaten and dinn?d; 
there is no peace but a grey sleep 
in the pause of the wind.