BEHOLD the mountain peaks how sharply lined Against the cloudless orient! while, serene, The silver Moon, majestic as a queen, Walks 'mid thin stars, whose lustre has declined. There is no breath of wind abroad: the trees Sleep in their stilly leaflessness; while, lost In the pale, sparkling labyrinths of frost, The wide world seems to slumber, and to freeze. 'Tis like enchanted fairyland! A chill Steals o'er the heart, as, gazing thus on night, Life from our lower world seems pass'd away; And, in the witchery of the faint moonlight, Silence comes down to hold perpetual sway;— So breathless is the scene—so hush'd—so still! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BARBER'S by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE IN TENEBRIS: 2 by THOMAS HARDY THE BROOKSIDE by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG by ALEXANDER POPE THE CLOSING SCENE by THOMAS BUCHANAN READ |