A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to
snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling
obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on
his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all
over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on
the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther
westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was
falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where
Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and
headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His
soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the
universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all
the living and the dead.

--

"Many have sought in vain to tell joyously of the Most Joyous. Now at last It
declares Itself to me, now in this misery." - Holderlin

On Thursday, December 2, 2021 at 1:11:02 PM UTC-5, Rockinghorse Winner wrote:
> A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to
> snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling
> obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on
> his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all
> over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on
> the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther
> westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was
> falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where
> Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and
> headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His
> soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the
> universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all
> the living and the dead.
>
> --
>
> "Many have sought in vain to tell joyously of the Most Joyous. Now at last It
> declares Itself to me, now in this misery." - Holderlin
>

Nice. That works very well as a stand-alone prose poem.