Poetry Archives

Last night it snowed; and Nature fell asleep.
  Forest and field lie tranced in gracious dreams
  Of growth, for ghosts of leaves long dead, me-seems,
Hover about the boughs; and wild winds sweep
O’er whitened fields full many a hoary heap
  From the storm-harvest mown by ice-bound streams!
  With beauty of crushed clouds the cold earth teems,
And winter a tranquil-seeming truce would keep.

But such ethereal slumber may not bide
  The ascending sun’s bright scorn—not long, I fear;
And all its visions on the golden tide
  Of mid-noon gliding off, must disappear.
Fair dreams, farewell! So in life’s stir and pride
  You fade, and leave the treasure of a tear!