The speckled sky is dim with snow, The light flakes falter and fall slow; Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale, Silently drops a silvery veil; And all the valley is shut in By flickering curtains gray and thin. But cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree; The snow sails round him as he sings, White as the down of angels’ wings. I watch the slow flakes as they fall On bank and brier and broken wall; Over the orchard, waste and brown, All noiselessly they settle down, Tipping the apple-boughs, and each Light quivering twig of plum and peach. On turf and curb and bower-roof The snow-storm spreads its ivory woof; It paves with pearl the garden-walk; And lovingly round tattered stalk And shivering stem its magic weaves A mantle fair as lily-leaves. The hooded beehive, small and low, Stands like a maiden in the snow; And the old door-slab is half hid Under an alabaster lid. All day it snows: the sheeted post Gleams in the dimness like a ghost; All day the blasted oak has stood A muffled wizard of the wood; Garland and airy cap adorn The sumach and the wayside thorn, And clustering spangles lodge and shine In the dark tresses of the pine. The ragged bramble, dwarfed and old, Shrinks like a beggar in the cold; In surplice white the cedar stands, And blesses him with priestly hands. Still cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree: But in my inmost ear is heard The music of a holier bird; And heavenly thoughts as soft and white As snow-flakes, on my soul alight, Clothing with love my lonely heart, Healing with peace each bruised part, Till all my being seems to be Transfigured by their purity.
Midwinter
More from Poet
-
We are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger ’s my dog:—come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentlemen,—mind your eye! Over the table,—look out for the lamp!— The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we ’ve tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And...
-
In the low-raftered garret, stooping Carefully over the creaking boards, Old Maid Dorothy goes a-groping Among its dusty and cobwebbed hoards; Seeking some bundle of patches, hid Far under the eaves, or bunch of sage, Or satchel hung on its nail, amid The heirlooms of a bygone age. There...
-
Around this lovely valley rise The purple hills of Paradise. O, softly on you banks of haze, Her rosy face the Summer lays! Becalmed along the azure sky, The argosies of cloudland lie, Whose shores, with many a shining rift, Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift. Through all the long midsummer-...
-
The speckled sky is dim with snow, The light flakes falter and fall slow; Athwart the hill-top, rapt and pale, Silently drops a silvery veil; And all the valley is shut in By flickering curtains gray and thin. But cheerily the chickadee Singeth to me on fence and tree; The snow sails round him...
-
We are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger ’s my dog.—Come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentlemen,—mind your eye! Over the table,—look out for the lamp! The rogue is growing a little old; Five years we ’ve tramped through wind and weather, And slept out-doors when nights were cold, And...