THE SNOW IS HERE
The snow is here.I heard it in the nightUpon the roof in marshaled measure tramp.The passing yearHas changed the world to whiteAnd set the seal of Winter on the camp.But yesterdayA footpath down the hillTouched hands with other roads that led afar;But now the wayIs hidden ’neath the chillOf diamonded drifts that glisten like the star.We are shut inFrom ev’ry distant thing,That other life amid the world of men,From dirt and din,Until returning SpringShall find the road and waken us again.The chore-boy nowHis frosted finger blowsAnd makes his path from islanded door to door;Like sturdy prowHe parts the billowed snowsAnd heaps his brands of comfort on the floor.The fire he pliesWith piles of pitchy pineUntil the flames roar upward in a gale;And we ariseTo breathe the wintry wine,To plunge abroad and icy tasks assail.So breaks the day;So comes the arctic dawnIn this our little world when snow is here;And so awayThe months shall follow onTill softer skies shall mark another year.The horses stampIn clouds of steamy smoke,The teamster’s voice of mastery await;Their bits they champAnd shake their leather yoke—And life breaks forth where life is isolate.Now from the wood,The timber on the hill,Comes stroke of ax and sawyer’s steady swing;The tree that stoodBeside the frozen rillIn powdered snow to earth comes thundering.Thus passes dayWith shout and merry call,With echoed blow and crosscut’s swishy sweep,Until the grayOf eve envelopes allAnd drives us back to shelter and to sleep.Though this our life,A rugged life and plain,Of sudden danger and of slow reward,The wind a knife,A scimitar of pain,With death to fight and frosty stream to ford,Though chill the way,Laborious the toil,Though rough the fare, the habitation rude,Though skies be gray,Though stubborn be the soil,And even day a night of solitude—We fondly know,We know, in other yearsWhen we shall look again on sunny seas,This land of snowShall rise from out our tearsAnd dearest seem of all our memories.
The snow is here.I heard it in the nightUpon the roof in marshaled measure tramp.The passing yearHas changed the world to whiteAnd set the seal of Winter on the camp.But yesterdayA footpath down the hillTouched hands with other roads that led afar;But now the wayIs hidden ’neath the chillOf diamonded drifts that glisten like the star.We are shut inFrom ev’ry distant thing,That other life amid the world of men,From dirt and din,Until returning SpringShall find the road and waken us again.The chore-boy nowHis frosted finger blowsAnd makes his path from islanded door to door;Like sturdy prowHe parts the billowed snowsAnd heaps his brands of comfort on the floor.The fire he pliesWith piles of pitchy pineUntil the flames roar upward in a gale;And we ariseTo breathe the wintry wine,To plunge abroad and icy tasks assail.So breaks the day;So comes the arctic dawnIn this our little world when snow is here;And so awayThe months shall follow onTill softer skies shall mark another year.The horses stampIn clouds of steamy smoke,The teamster’s voice of mastery await;Their bits they champAnd shake their leather yoke—And life breaks forth where life is isolate.Now from the wood,The timber on the hill,Comes stroke of ax and sawyer’s steady swing;The tree that stoodBeside the frozen rillIn powdered snow to earth comes thundering.Thus passes dayWith shout and merry call,With echoed blow and crosscut’s swishy sweep,Until the grayOf eve envelopes allAnd drives us back to shelter and to sleep.Though this our life,A rugged life and plain,Of sudden danger and of slow reward,The wind a knife,A scimitar of pain,With death to fight and frosty stream to ford,Though chill the way,Laborious the toil,Though rough the fare, the habitation rude,Though skies be gray,Though stubborn be the soil,And even day a night of solitude—We fondly know,We know, in other yearsWhen we shall look again on sunny seas,This land of snowShall rise from out our tearsAnd dearest seem of all our memories.
The snow is here.I heard it in the nightUpon the roof in marshaled measure tramp.The passing yearHas changed the world to whiteAnd set the seal of Winter on the camp.But yesterdayA footpath down the hillTouched hands with other roads that led afar;But now the wayIs hidden ’neath the chillOf diamonded drifts that glisten like the star.We are shut inFrom ev’ry distant thing,That other life amid the world of men,From dirt and din,Until returning SpringShall find the road and waken us again.
The snow is here.
I heard it in the night
Upon the roof in marshaled measure tramp.
The passing year
Has changed the world to white
And set the seal of Winter on the camp.
But yesterday
A footpath down the hill
Touched hands with other roads that led afar;
But now the way
Is hidden ’neath the chill
Of diamonded drifts that glisten like the star.
We are shut in
From ev’ry distant thing,
That other life amid the world of men,
From dirt and din,
Until returning Spring
Shall find the road and waken us again.
The chore-boy nowHis frosted finger blowsAnd makes his path from islanded door to door;Like sturdy prowHe parts the billowed snowsAnd heaps his brands of comfort on the floor.The fire he pliesWith piles of pitchy pineUntil the flames roar upward in a gale;And we ariseTo breathe the wintry wine,To plunge abroad and icy tasks assail.So breaks the day;So comes the arctic dawnIn this our little world when snow is here;And so awayThe months shall follow onTill softer skies shall mark another year.
The chore-boy now
His frosted finger blows
And makes his path from islanded door to door;
Like sturdy prow
He parts the billowed snows
And heaps his brands of comfort on the floor.
The fire he plies
With piles of pitchy pine
Until the flames roar upward in a gale;
And we arise
To breathe the wintry wine,
To plunge abroad and icy tasks assail.
So breaks the day;
So comes the arctic dawn
In this our little world when snow is here;
And so away
The months shall follow on
Till softer skies shall mark another year.
The horses stampIn clouds of steamy smoke,The teamster’s voice of mastery await;Their bits they champAnd shake their leather yoke—And life breaks forth where life is isolate.Now from the wood,The timber on the hill,Comes stroke of ax and sawyer’s steady swing;The tree that stoodBeside the frozen rillIn powdered snow to earth comes thundering.Thus passes dayWith shout and merry call,With echoed blow and crosscut’s swishy sweep,Until the grayOf eve envelopes allAnd drives us back to shelter and to sleep.
The horses stamp
In clouds of steamy smoke,
The teamster’s voice of mastery await;
Their bits they champ
And shake their leather yoke—
And life breaks forth where life is isolate.
Now from the wood,
The timber on the hill,
Comes stroke of ax and sawyer’s steady swing;
The tree that stood
Beside the frozen rill
In powdered snow to earth comes thundering.
Thus passes day
With shout and merry call,
With echoed blow and crosscut’s swishy sweep,
Until the gray
Of eve envelopes all
And drives us back to shelter and to sleep.
Though this our life,A rugged life and plain,Of sudden danger and of slow reward,The wind a knife,A scimitar of pain,With death to fight and frosty stream to ford,Though chill the way,Laborious the toil,Though rough the fare, the habitation rude,Though skies be gray,Though stubborn be the soil,And even day a night of solitude—We fondly know,We know, in other yearsWhen we shall look again on sunny seas,This land of snowShall rise from out our tearsAnd dearest seem of all our memories.
Though this our life,
A rugged life and plain,
Of sudden danger and of slow reward,
The wind a knife,
A scimitar of pain,
With death to fight and frosty stream to ford,
Though chill the way,
Laborious the toil,
Though rough the fare, the habitation rude,
Though skies be gray,
Though stubborn be the soil,
And even day a night of solitude—
We fondly know,
We know, in other years
When we shall look again on sunny seas,
This land of snow
Shall rise from out our tears
And dearest seem of all our memories.