When Winter fringes every bough With his fantastic wreath, And puts the seal of silence now Upon the leaves beneath; When every stream in its pent-house Goes gurgling on its way, And in his gallery the mouse Nibbleth the meadow hay; Methinks the summer still is nigh, And lurketh underneath, As that same meadow mouse doth lie Snug in the last year's heath. And if perchance the chicadee Lisp a faint note anon, The snow in summer's canopy, Which she herself put on. Fair blossoms deck the cheerful trees, And dazzling fruits depend, The north wind sighs a summer breeze, The nipping frosts to fend, Bringing glad tidings unto me, The while I stand all ear, Of a serene eternity, Which need not winter fear. Out on the silent pond straightway The restless ice doth crack, And pond sprites merry gambols play Amid the deafening rack. Eager I hasten to the vale, As if I heard brave news, How nature held high festival, Which it were hard to lose. I gambol with my neighbor ice, And sympathizing quake, As each new crack darts in a trice Across the gladsome lake. One with the cricket in the ground, And faggot on the hearth, Resounds the rare domestic sound Along the forest path. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A LILY by JAMES MATHEWES LEGARE I SIT AND LOOK OUT by WALT WHITMAN RELEASE by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD ODE TO REMORSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MAY'S LOVE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: CONDEMNED ONES by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |