Robert Frost, 19??
(I always think of this as a companion piece to Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. Actually I like Woods better, except for the last stanza below, which thrills me every time I read it. "I have it in me so much nearer home to scare myself with my own desert places." You said a mouthful, Bob.)
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it -- it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it be less --
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars -- on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.