Themes and Variations/A Winter Piece
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;
Of leaves never falling in lands of unchangeable summer;
And palm-trees that sing like the sails of a ship; and the perfume
That steals in the dark from the disc of the night-blowing cerens,—
Then something stirs in the snow, something breaks in the marble,
Something bids it forsake these cold ridges and peaks everlasting,
And plunging from cliff to crag, ’mid the shriek of the echoes,
It thunders along the ravine till it sinks in the river.
Speak of the tropical skies, and the swirl of the ocean;
Of leaves never falling in lands of unchangeable summer;
And palm-trees that sing like the sails of a ship; and the perfume
That steals in the dark from the disc of the night-blowing cerens,—
Then something stirs in the snow, something breaks in the marble,
Something bids it forsake these cold ridges and peaks everlasting,
And plunging from cliff to crag, ’mid the shriek of the echoes,
It thunders along the ravine till it sinks in the river.