Above the mountain’s crest, The star against the blue Blossomed; and on the breast Of darkness, hemlocks knew The gentle weight of whiteness, The easy wind’s soft sound That sifted the silver lightness Across the drifted ground.
Huddled within the grey Barn’s warm and weathered walls, The calves were restless; hay Was sweet in the bedded stalls, But the horses whinnied, shaking Their halters, seeing the star Through the small window, breaking Over the mountain’s bar
Like an opening flower, gold Upon the heaven’s deep Clear cobalt, as of old. The drowsy mother-sheep, Her lamb nuzzling her side, Lay in the dusky straw; The lamb tottered and cried Toward the window, when it saw
The great star lifting slowly Over the snowy sod, Over all creatures lowly, As over the Lamb of God It burned once on a blowing Night…and the lamb was still, Watching that brilliance growing Over the wintry hill.