In winter in the woods alone The west was getting out of gold, Against the trees I go The breath of air had died of cold, I mark a maple for my own When shoeing home across the white, And lay the maple low. I thought I saw a bird alight. At four o'clock I shoulder ax, In summer when I passed the place And in the afterglow I had to stop and lift my face; I link a line of shadowy tracks A bird with an angelic gift Across the tinted snow. Was singing in it sweet and swift. I see for Nature no defeat No bird was singing in it now. In one tree's overthrow A single leaf was on a bough, Or for myself in my retreat And that was all there was to see For yet another blow. In going twice around the tree. From my advantage on a hill I judged that such a crystal chill Was only adding frost to snow As gilt to gold that wouldn't show. A brush had left a crooked stroke Of what was either cloud or smoke From north to south across the blue; A piercing little star was through. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COMMON LOT by JAMES MONTGOMERY THE LITTLE ONES GREATNESS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT TO THE AUTHOR OF TEUCHSA GRONDIE by LEVI BISHOP ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK by ROBERT BURNS SONGS OF THE SEA CHILDREN: 32 by BLISS CARMAN |