Afternoon in February

The day is ending,
The night is descending;
The marsh is frozen,
The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes
On village windows
That glimmer red.

The snow recommences;
The buried fences
Mark no longer
The road o’er the plain;

While through the meadows,
Like fearful shadows,
Slowly passes
A funeral train.

The bell is pealing,
And every feeling
Within me responds
To the dismal knell;

Shadows are trailing,
My heart is bewailing
And tolling within
Like a funeral bell.

(image from poetryrapgenius.com):

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 – 1882 …
for many, the best – loved of American poets:
his works are relatable, of recognisable themes, of lyrical quality.
Afternoon in February is said to be written in memory of
his second wife, Frances Appleton, whom he loved dearly.