Insomnia at North

I shall yet have a long sleep
When the dark is at a stand
In the woods. The rocks
Along the ridge

Will no longer ring
Like bells, but will
Become simple, gray
And silent. I will be

Still then, and sleep
As night now sleeps,
Swaying the larch
Outside my window.

It is losing its needles.
Dry slivers of gold
Drop in the tall,
Sheltering grass.

These I shall hurry,
And envy their settle.