A DECEMBER MORNING.
Breaks in the wild and bleak December morn,Across shrunk woods and pallid skies like pearl:From hooded roofs white, sinuous smoke-wreaths curlInto the clear, sharp air; great boughs, wind-tornAnd storm-dismantled, sway from trunks forlorn.Under stark fences, snow-mists sift and swirl,And overhead, where night was wont to hurlHer ghostly drift, white clouds, wind-steered, are borne.By drifted ways I climb the eastern hills,And watch the wind-swayed maples creak and strain;The muffled beeches moan their wintry pain;While over fields and frosty, silent rills,The breaking day the great, grey silence fillsWith far-heard voice and stir of life again.
Breaks in the wild and bleak December morn,Across shrunk woods and pallid skies like pearl:From hooded roofs white, sinuous smoke-wreaths curlInto the clear, sharp air; great boughs, wind-tornAnd storm-dismantled, sway from trunks forlorn.Under stark fences, snow-mists sift and swirl,And overhead, where night was wont to hurlHer ghostly drift, white clouds, wind-steered, are borne.By drifted ways I climb the eastern hills,And watch the wind-swayed maples creak and strain;The muffled beeches moan their wintry pain;While over fields and frosty, silent rills,The breaking day the great, grey silence fillsWith far-heard voice and stir of life again.
Breaks in the wild and bleak December morn,Across shrunk woods and pallid skies like pearl:From hooded roofs white, sinuous smoke-wreaths curlInto the clear, sharp air; great boughs, wind-tornAnd storm-dismantled, sway from trunks forlorn.Under stark fences, snow-mists sift and swirl,And overhead, where night was wont to hurlHer ghostly drift, white clouds, wind-steered, are borne.
By drifted ways I climb the eastern hills,And watch the wind-swayed maples creak and strain;The muffled beeches moan their wintry pain;While over fields and frosty, silent rills,The breaking day the great, grey silence fillsWith far-heard voice and stir of life again.