 | The American common-place book of poetry |  |
Woods in Winter.—Longfellow.
When winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the white-thorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That over-brows the lonely vale.
And through the white-thorn blows the gale,
With solemn feet I tread the hill,
That over-brows the lonely vale.
O'er the bare upland, and away
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
Through the long reach of desert woods,
The embracing sunbeams chastely play,
And gladden these deep solitudes.
On the gray maple's crusted bark
Its tender shoots the hoar-frost nips;
Whilst in the frozen fountain—hark!—
His piercing beak the bittern dips.
Its tender shoots the hoar-frost nips;
Whilst in the frozen fountain—hark!—
His piercing beak the bittern dips.
Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,—
The crystal icicle is hung.
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke,—
The crystal icicle is hung.
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Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Pour out the river's gradual tide,
Shrilly the skater's iron rings,
And voices fill the woodland side.
Alas! how changed from the fair scene,
When birds sang out their mellow lay;
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!
When birds sang out their mellow lay;
And winds were soft, and woods were green,
And the song ceased not with the day!
But still wild music is abroad,
Pale, desert woods, within your crowd;
And gathered winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Pale, desert woods, within your crowd;
And gathered winds, in hoarse accord,
Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.
Chill airs, and wintry winds, my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year—
I listen, and it cheers me long.
Has grown familiar with your song;
I hear it in the opening year—
I listen, and it cheers me long.
| The American common-place book of poetry | |