The shortest day of the year

Is at noon now.

We are far in the shadow now,

The walls near,

Time's roof low, and the doors

Shut against cold.

We are old. We are the very old

In these huddled hours.

Look up. See the year unselve,

Turn, and move on

From the dead depths of twelve

To half past one.

Day by day now we turn and stay

Longer in light,

We grow younger in shorter night

And more day,

And more, till we are all tall

Under the tall sun,

And our running shadows fall

Far from this noon.