Blue pines embrace the little church at Bow Where four roads tumble down the untrodden hill, And half a dozen houses in the snow Cluster and gossip round the silent mill. They stood there silent in New England wise. One smoked its chimney like a corncob pipe, And one looked at me with unblinking eyes, Testing ironic comment, not yet ripe. And two or three, more female than the rest, Twinkled their attic windows as I passed, Watching, amused, the crazy winter guest Who snowshoed where the deepest drifts were massed. Keen but not hostile was the town of Bow, Breaking its silence as I climbed the hill, Gathered and chuckling in the shadowed snow, Talking me over, clustered round the mill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMPEDOCLES ON ETNA; A DRAMATIC POEM by MATTHEW ARNOLD DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 6. GRUACH by GORDON BOTTOMLEY CYCLAMENS by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY LINES BY CLAUDIA by EMILY JANE BRONTE RESOLUTION OF A POETICAL QUESTION CONCERNING FOUR RURAL SISTERS: 2 by CHARLES COTTON A DUTCH PROVERB by MATTHEW PRIOR FOUR LITTLE FOXES by LEW SARETT |