Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped...
|
I see the cloud-born squadrons of the gale, Sounds like the rush of trampling columns float |
UNTREMULOUS in the river clear, |
I See the cloud-born squadrons of the gale, Sounds like the rush of trampling columns float |
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky, |
The Great soft downy snow-storm like a cloak |
Scene in a Vermont Winter |
From “Childe Harold,” Canto III. |
Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer! From bounding billows, first in motion, |
Glee ! the great storm is over ! |