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A Winter Piece.
39
A WINTER PIECE.
When on the mountains of Mora the far-driven snow-storm
Sows over hillside and valley its measureless burden,
White are the peaks as the sunlighted houses of angels;
Casting a shadow for leagues on the deep-drifted meadows,
By hollows and gulfs of aërial purple divided.
Sows over hillside and valley its measureless burden,
White are the peaks as the sunlighted houses of angels;
Casting a shadow for leagues on the deep-drifted meadows,
By hollows and gulfs of aërial purple divided.
And far at their feet lies the greensward, a smooth flowing river
Of field and of pasture that sweeps to the capes of the forest,
And sometimes a sail on the glittering acres of occan;
And sometimes a homestead, with stacks brown as loaves from the oven;
And sometimes the arrow of smoke overshot by the engine
Fast flying from shadow to shine on the sheep-dotted valley,
Will tell of the children of men in their sheltering Lowlands.
Of field and of pasture that sweeps to the capes of the forest,
And sometimes a sail on the glittering acres of occan;
And sometimes a homestead, with stacks brown as loaves from the oven;
And sometimes the arrow of smoke overshot by the engine
Fast flying from shadow to shine on the sheep-dotted valley,
Will tell of the children of men in their sheltering Lowlands.
But ah! if a wind should arise, and, in indolent whispers,
Speak of the tropical skies, and the swirl of the ocean;
Speak of the tropical skies, and the swirl of the ocean;