 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
48
WINTER.
The day had been a calm and sunny day,
And tinged with amber was the sky at even;
The fleecy clouds at length had rolled away,
And lay in furrows on the eastern heaven;—
The moon arose, and shed a glimmering ray,
And round her orb a misty circle lay.
And tinged with amber was the sky at even;
The fleecy clouds at length had rolled away,
And lay in furrows on the eastern heaven;—
The moon arose, and shed a glimmering ray,
And round her orb a misty circle lay.
The hoar-frost glittered on the naked heath,
The roar of distant winds was loud and deep,
The dry leaves rustled in each passing breath
And the gay world was lost in quiet sleep.
Such was the time when, on the landscape brown,
Through a December air the snows came down.
The roar of distant winds was loud and deep,
The dry leaves rustled in each passing breath
And the gay world was lost in quiet sleep.
Such was the time when, on the landscape brown,
Through a December air the snows came down.
The morning came, the dreary morn at last,
And showed the whitened waste. The shivering herd
Lowed on the hoary meadow-ground, and fast
Fell the light flakes upon the earth unstirred;
The forest firs with glittering snows o'erlaid,
Stood like hoar priests in robes of white arrayed.
And showed the whitened waste. The shivering herd
Lowed on the hoary meadow-ground, and fast
Fell the light flakes upon the earth unstirred;
The forest firs with glittering snows o'erlaid,
Stood like hoar priests in robes of white arrayed.
49
I look forth from my lattice. The wide air
Is filled with falling flakes;—around, the scene
Lies in unvaired whiteness—all, save where
The autumn grain peeps out with living green,
Or save the dry leaves from the forest cast,
And withered flower-stalks trembling in the blast.
Is filled with falling flakes;—around, the scene
Lies in unvaired whiteness—all, save where
The autumn grain peeps out with living green,
Or save the dry leaves from the forest cast,
And withered flower-stalks trembling in the blast.
O, Winter! thou art welcome; thou to me
Art a bestower of joy and guiltless mirth;—
Thou bringest many an eve of social glee
When dear friends gather round the blazing hearth,
And childhood's merry laugh, and youth's glad smile,
The lingering hours of many a day beguile.
Art a bestower of joy and guiltless mirth;—
Thou bringest many an eve of social glee
When dear friends gather round the blazing hearth,
And childhood's merry laugh, and youth's glad smile,
The lingering hours of many a day beguile.
The blast that sweeps the upland, the deep sigh
Sent through the rocking forest, and the frown
Of struggling tempests that o'erveil the sky
In gloomy darkness when the snows come down,
Have all a voice for me, which reaches deep
Where the strong passions of my bosom sleep.
Sent through the rocking forest, and the frown
Of struggling tempests that o'erveil the sky
In gloomy darkness when the snows come down,
Have all a voice for me, which reaches deep
Where the strong passions of my bosom sleep.
Oh, many an eve on wild New England's hills,
When the full moon shone on the glittering snow,
When the keen frosts had chained the mountain rills,
And the deep streams no more were heard to flow,
Have I been forth with school-mates at my play,
And frolicked many a joyous hour away.
When the full moon shone on the glittering snow,
When the keen frosts had chained the mountain rills,
And the deep streams no more were heard to flow,
Have I been forth with school-mates at my play,
And frolicked many a joyous hour away.
50
Ah! those were glorious seasons. Then the hours
On silent, silken pinions sped away;
My feet trod lightly on life's morning flowers;
My voice was with my young heart ever gay.
No sorrow then had stained my cheek with tears,
But joy and sunshine filled the gliding years.
On silent, silken pinions sped away;
My feet trod lightly on life's morning flowers;
My voice was with my young heart ever gay.
No sorrow then had stained my cheek with tears,
But joy and sunshine filled the gliding years.
Sweet are those recollections of the past;
And with deep pleasure back to mind I bring
The golden dreams of boyhood's scenes, that cast
Hues of romance o'er life's resplendent spring;
For as I summon up the vanished train,
Half do I live those seasons o'er again.
And with deep pleasure back to mind I bring
The golden dreams of boyhood's scenes, that cast
Hues of romance o'er life's resplendent spring;
For as I summon up the vanished train,
Half do I live those seasons o'er again.
And still the hours of winter evening come
With a glad welcoming, though fast they fly;
Not the gay Spring, with all its light and bloom,
Nor Summer's fruits, nor Autumn's golden sky,
Nor woods of many hues, a princely show,
Can thrill my bosom with a warmer glow.
With a glad welcoming, though fast they fly;
Not the gay Spring, with all its light and bloom,
Nor Summer's fruits, nor Autumn's golden sky,
Nor woods of many hues, a princely show,
Can thrill my bosom with a warmer glow.
Then come, ye biting frosts, and let the roar
Of the wild winds resound through wood and glen,
And mountain waves o'erleap the rocky shore,
And storms come down and darkness brood again;
O'er the wide waste bring all your train along,
And thrill my bosom with your mighty song.
Of the wild winds resound through wood and glen,
And mountain waves o'erleap the rocky shore,
And storms come down and darkness brood again;
O'er the wide waste bring all your train along,
And thrill my bosom with your mighty song.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |