Sara Teasdale

Winter Dusk

  I watch the great clear twilight
   Veiling the ice-bowed trees;
  Their branches tinkle faintly
   With crystal melodies.

  The larches bend their silver
   Over the hush of snow;
  One star is lighted in the west,
   Two in the zenith glow.

  For a moment I have forgotten
   Wars and women who mourn—
  I think of the mother who bore me
   And thank her that I was born.