THE BLIZZARD
Thewhited pumice of the stormIs over house and hillOr drifted into shroudlike formAbout the ruined mill.The fences hide beneath the drifts;The snowy terracesAscend to where the hemlock liftsIts virgin-broidered dress.The trackless highway challengesThe sweltered caravanOf traffic and in fastnessesOf chalk imprisons man.The wind-wolves howl at cottage-doorOr down the chimney leap;The windows all are rimed with hoarWhere frozen fingers creep.The house-frame groans at blast and frostLike quarry of the packO’ertaken, but though torn and tossedStill stout of heart and back;Still stout of heart like us secureBy ruddy fire warm,Too humbly thankful to be poorWhile sheltered from the storm.
Thewhited pumice of the stormIs over house and hillOr drifted into shroudlike formAbout the ruined mill.The fences hide beneath the drifts;The snowy terracesAscend to where the hemlock liftsIts virgin-broidered dress.The trackless highway challengesThe sweltered caravanOf traffic and in fastnessesOf chalk imprisons man.The wind-wolves howl at cottage-doorOr down the chimney leap;The windows all are rimed with hoarWhere frozen fingers creep.The house-frame groans at blast and frostLike quarry of the packO’ertaken, but though torn and tossedStill stout of heart and back;Still stout of heart like us secureBy ruddy fire warm,Too humbly thankful to be poorWhile sheltered from the storm.
Thewhited pumice of the stormIs over house and hillOr drifted into shroudlike formAbout the ruined mill.
Thewhited pumice of the storm
Is over house and hill
Or drifted into shroudlike form
About the ruined mill.
The fences hide beneath the drifts;The snowy terracesAscend to where the hemlock liftsIts virgin-broidered dress.
The fences hide beneath the drifts;
The snowy terraces
Ascend to where the hemlock lifts
Its virgin-broidered dress.
The trackless highway challengesThe sweltered caravanOf traffic and in fastnessesOf chalk imprisons man.
The trackless highway challenges
The sweltered caravan
Of traffic and in fastnesses
Of chalk imprisons man.
The wind-wolves howl at cottage-doorOr down the chimney leap;The windows all are rimed with hoarWhere frozen fingers creep.
The wind-wolves howl at cottage-door
Or down the chimney leap;
The windows all are rimed with hoar
Where frozen fingers creep.
The house-frame groans at blast and frostLike quarry of the packO’ertaken, but though torn and tossedStill stout of heart and back;
The house-frame groans at blast and frost
Like quarry of the pack
O’ertaken, but though torn and tossed
Still stout of heart and back;
Still stout of heart like us secureBy ruddy fire warm,Too humbly thankful to be poorWhile sheltered from the storm.
Still stout of heart like us secure
By ruddy fire warm,
Too humbly thankful to be poor
While sheltered from the storm.