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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348228" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Winter-Store</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Subtly conscious, all awake,<br>Let us clear our eyes, and break<br>Through the cloudy chrysalis,<br>See the wonder as it is.<br>Down a narrow alley, blind,<br>Touch and vision, heart and mind,<br>Turned sharply inward, still we plod,<br>Till the calmly smiling god<br>Leaves us, and our spirits grow<br>More thin, more acrid, as we go.<br>Creeping by the sullen wall,<br>We forego the power to see,<br>The threads that bind us to the All,<br>God or the Immensity;<br>Whereof on the eternal road<br>Man is but a passing mode.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too blind we are, too little see<br>Of the magic pageantry,<br>Every minute, every hour,<br>From the cloudflake to the flower,<br>Forever old, forever strange,<br>Issuing in perpetual change<br>From the rainbow gates of Time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But he who through this common air<br>Surely knows the great and fair,<br>What is lovely, what sublime,<br>Becomes in an increasing span,<br>One with earth and one with man,<br>One, despite these mortal scars,<br>With the planets and the stars;<br>And Nature from her holy place,<br>Bending with unveiled face,<br>Fills him in her divine employ<br>With her own majestic joy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Up the fielded slopes at morn,<br>Where light wefts of shadow pass,<br>Films upon the bending corn,<br>I shall sweep the purple grass.<br>Sun-crowned heights and mossy woods,<br>And the outer solitudes,<br>Mountain-valleys, dim with pine,<br>Shall be home and haunt of mine.<br>I shall search in crannied hollows,<br>Where the sunlight scarcely follows,<br>And the secret forest brook<br>Murmurs, and from nook to nook<br>Forever downward curls and cools,<br>Frothing in the bouldered pools.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Many a noon shall find me laid<br>In the pungent balsam shade,<br>Where sharp breezes spring and shiver<br>On some deep rough-coasted river,<br>And the plangent waters come,<br>Amber-hued and streaked with foam;<br>Where beneath the sunburnt hills<br>All day long the crowded mills<br>With remorseless champ and scream<br>Overlord the sluicing stream,<br>And the rapids' iron roar<br>Hammers at the forest's core;<br>Where corded rafts creep slowly on,<br>Glittering in the noonday sun,<br>And the tawny river-dogs,<br>Shepherding the branded logs,<br>Bind and heave with cadenced cry;<br>Where the blackened tugs go by,<br>Panting hard and straining slow,<br>Laboring at the weighty tow,<br>Flat-nosed barges all in trim,<br>Creeping in long cumbrous line,<br>Loaded to the water's brim<br>With the clean, cool-scented pine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps in some low meadow-land,<br>Stretching wide on either hand,<br>I shall see the belted bees<br>Rocking with the tricksy breeze<br>In the spired meadow-sweet,<br>Or with eager trampling feet<br>Burrowing in the boneset blooms,<br>Treading out the dry perfumes.<br>Where sun-hot hay-fields newly mown<br>Climb the hillside ruddy brown,<br>I shall see the haymakers,<br>While the noonday scarcely stirs,<br>Brown of neck and booted gray,<br>Tossing up the rustling hay,<br>While the hay-racks bend and rock,<br>As they take each scented cock,<br>Jolting over dip and rise;<br>And the wavering butterflies<br>O'er the spaces brown and bare<br>Light and wander here and there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall stray by many a stream,<br>Where the half-shut lilies gleam,<br>Napping out the sultry days<br>In the quiet secluded bays;<br>Where the tasseled rushes tower,<br>O'er the purple pickerel-flower,<br>And the floating dragon-fly-<br>Azure glint and crystal gleam-<br>Watches o'er the burnished stream<br>With his eye of ebony;<br>Where the bull-frog lolls at rest<br>On his float of lily-leaves,<br>That the swaying water weaves,<br>And distends his yellow breast,<br>Lowing out from shore to shore<br>With a hollow vibrant roar;<br>Where the softest wind that blows,<br>As it lightly comes and goes,<br>O'er the jungled river meads,<br>Stirs a whisper in the reeds,<br>And wakes the crowded bull-rushes<br>From their stately reveries,<br>Flashing through their long-leaved hordes<br>Like a brandishing of swords;<br>There, too, the frost-like arrow-flowers<br>Tremble to the golden core,<br>Children of enchanted hours,<br>Whom the rustling river bore<br>In the night's bewildered noon,<br>Woven of water and the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall hear the grasshoppers<br>From the parched grass rehearse,<br>And with drowsy note prolong<br>Evermore the same thin song.<br>I shall hear the crickets tell<br>Stories by the humming well,<br>And mark the locust, with quaint eyes,<br>Caper in his cloak of gray<br>Like a jester in disguise<br>Rattling by the dusty way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall dream by upland fences,<br>Where the season's wealth condenses<br>Over many a weedy wreck,<br>Wild, uncared-for, desert places,<br>That sovereign Beauty loves to deck<br>With her softest, dearest graces.<br>There the long year dreams in quiet,<br>And the summer's strength runs riot.<br>Shall I not remember these,<br>Deep in winter reveries?<br>Berried brier and thistle-bloom,<br>And milkweed with its dense perfume;<br>Slender vervain towering up<br>In a many-branched cup,<br>Like a candlestick, each spire<br>Kindled with a violet fire;<br>Matted creepers and wild cherries,<br>Purple-bunched elderberries,<br>And on scanty plots of sod<br>Groves of branchy goldenrod.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What though autumn mornings now,<br>Winterward with glittering brow,<br>Stiffen in the silver grass;<br>And what though robins flock and pass,<br>With subdued and sober call,<br>To the old year's funeral;<br>Though October's crimson leaves<br>Rustle at the gusty door,<br>And the tempest round the eaves<br>Alternate with pipe and roar;<br>I sit, as erst, unharmed, secure,<br>Conscious that my store is sure,<br>Whatsoe'er the fenced fields,<br>Or the untilled forest yields<br>Of unhurt remembrances,<br>Or thoughts, far-glimpsed, half-followed, these<br>I have reaped and laid away,<br>A treasure of unwinnowed grain,<br>To the garner packed and gray<br>Gathered without toil or strain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when the darker days shall come,<br>And the fields are white and dumb;<br>When our fires are half in vain,<br>And the crystal starlight weaves<br>Mockeries of summer leaves,<br>Pictured on the icy pane;<br>When the high aurora gleams<br>Far above the Arctic streams<br>Like a line of shifting spears,<br>And the broad pine-circled meres,<br>Glimmering in that spectral light,<br>Thunder through the northern night;<br>Then within the bolted door<br>I shall con my summer store;<br>Though the fences scarcely show<br>Black above the drifted snow,<br>Though the icy sweeping wind<br>Whistle in the empty tree,<br>Safe within the sheltered mind,<br>I shall feed on memory.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet across the windy night<br>Comes upon its wings a cry;<br>Fashioned forms and modes take flight,<br>And a vision sad and high<br>Of the laboring world down there,<br>Where the lights burn red and warm,<br>Pricks my soul with sudden stare,<br>Glowing through the veils of storm.<br>In the city yonder sleep<br>Those who smile and those who weep,<br>Those whose lips are set with care,<br>Those whose brows are smooth and fair;<br>Mourners whom the dawning light<br>Shall grapple with an old distress;<br>Lovers folded at midnight<br>In their bridal happiness;<br>Pale watchers by beloved beds,<br>Fallen a-drowse with nodding heads,<br>Whom sleep captured by surprise,<br>With the circles round their eyes;<br>Maidens with quiet-taken breath,<br>Dreaming of enchanted bowers;<br>Old men with the mask of death;<br>Little children soft as flowers;<br>Those who wake wild-eyed and start<br>In some madness of the heart;<br>Those whose lips and brows of stone<br>Evil thoughts have graven upon,<br>Shade by shade and line by line,<br>Refashioning what was once divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All these sleep, and through the night,<br>Comes a passion and a cry,<br>With a blind sorrow and a might,<br>I know not whence, I know not why,<br>A something I cannot control,<br>A nameless hunger of the soul.<br>It holds me fast. In vain, in vain,<br>I remember how of old<br>I saw the ruddy race of men,<br>Through the glittering world outrolled,<br>A gay-smiling multitude,<br>All immortal, all divine,<br>Treading in a wreathed line<br>By a pathway through a wood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Archibald+Lampman">Archibald Lampman</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=348228" data-title="Winter-Store de Archibald Lampman" data-description="Subtly conscious, all awake,
Let us clear our eyes, and break
Through the cloudy chrysalis,
See the wonder as it is.
Down a narrow alley, blind,
Touch and vision, heart and mind,
Turned sharply inward, still we plod,
Till the calmly smiling god
Le..."></div>
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