Winter Nightfall

from Georg Trakl
Snow falls on the darkening boughs,
Evening bell rings through the shade;
For many guests the table's laid,
Well-appointed is the house.
Travellers come from field and fold
By dark pathways to the gate;
The Tree of Grace has blossomed late,
Turning earth's cool sap to gold.
Hard with pain the stony sill;
Indoors on the table shine
With pure brightness bread and wine;
Enter, wanderer, take your fill.