The temperate air is filled with a gray mist, Which thickens to a dense cloud when the eye To make out forms of distant things doth try, And whose close fold the sunbeams doth resist. The ground is soaked and darkened with the rain, And in the road slow carriage wheels have rolled Deep ruts, that little pools of water hold, And in the path my steps leave footprints plain. In the sleeping trees no life is visible; And, with this ghostly mist wrapped all around Their branches, fancy makes them seem as bound In some far northern land by wizard's spell -- Some land into whose wastes I enter now, And feel the same weird power to which they bow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A MINOR POET by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET NAMING FOR LOVE by HAYDEN CARRUTH TRANSLUCENT FINGERS by MALCOLM COWLEY SONG OF THE WAVE by ROBERT FROST AGAINST THE REST OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN SPRING WIND IN LONDON by KATHERINE MANSFIELD AT SAGAMORE HILL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |