Snow-bound: A Winter Idyl

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James R. Osgood, late Ticknor & Fields, and Fields, Osgood, 1877 - 51 oldal
 

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11. oldal - Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag, wavering to and fro, Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.
9. oldal - ... over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout Of homespun stuff, could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told.
12. oldal - All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, — A universe of sky and snow!
27. oldal - In moons and tides and weather wise. He read the clouds as prophecies, And foul or fair could well divine, By many an occult hint and sign, Holding the cunning-warded keys...
25. oldal - The loon's weird laughter far away; We fished her little trout-brook, knew What flowers in wood and meadow grew, What sunny hillsides autumn-brown She climbed to shake the ripe nuts down, Saw where in sheltered cove and bay 28 ° The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, And heard the wild-geese calling loud Beneath the gray November cloud.
34. oldal - Not competence and yet not want, He early gained the power to pay His cheerful, self-reliant way ; Could doff at ease his scholar's gown...
48. oldal - And poetry — or good or bad, A single book was all we had, Where Ellwood's meek, drab-skirted Muse, A stranger to the heathen Nine, Sang, with a somewhat nasal whine, The wars of David and the Jews. At last the floundering carrier bore The village paper to our door.
50. oldal - Green hills of life that slope to death, And haunts of home, whose vistaed trees Shade off to mournful cypresses With the white amaranths underneath. Even while I look, I can but heed The restless sands...
30. oldal - With others, glistened at her noon; Through years of toil and soil and care From glossy tress to thin gray hair, All unprofaned she held apart The virgin fancies of the heart.
21. oldal - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own...

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