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[II. Above the porch, full in dawn's rosy view]
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[II. Above the porch, full in dawn's rosy view]

Above the porch, full in dawn's rosy view,
Fringes of icicles hang glittering keen,
Traced clear against the pale heaven's crystal blue
In splintry and vivid sheen.
And as their silver lances glassily clash
With golden lances by the new day borne,
Through the sharp air unmelted they now flash
A silent arctic scorn.

225

But while the grand sun mounts in dazzling state,
My thoughts from these bleak snowy scenes have turned
To sultry and luxurious climes where late
Noon's yellow fervors burned!
Still from the porch the icicles gleam chill;
Yonder still spread the barren snow-choked fields;
Over the cheerless lands white winter still
His radiant sceptre wields.
But I dream strangely of some Orient calm
Where this same sun drops west through stagnant heat,
While some swart Arab, near a drowsy palm,
Lolls at his camel's feet.