The browns, the olives, and the yellows died, br And were swept up to heaven; where they glowed br Each dawn and set of sun till Christmastide, br And when the land lay pale for them, pale-snowed, br Fell back, and down the snow-drifts flamed and flowed. br br From off your face, into the winds of winter, br The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; br But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter, br When paler beauty on your brows falls snowing, br And through those snows my looks shall be soft-going.