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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420497" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>From "Snow-Bound," 11:1-40, 116-154</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun that brief December day<br>Rose cheerless over hills of gray,<br>And, darkly circled, gave at noon<br>A sadder light than waning moon.<br>Slow tracing down the thickening sky<br>Its mute and ominous prophecy,<br>A portent seeming less than threat,<br>It sank from sight before it set.<br>A chill no coat, however stout,<br>Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,<br>A hard, dull bitterness of cold,<br>That checked, mid-vein, the circling race<br>Of life-blood in the sharpened face,<br>The coming of the snow-storm told.<br>The wind blew east: we heard the roar<br>Of Ocean on his wintry shore, <br>And felt the strong pulse throbbing there<br>Beat with low rhythm our inland air.<br>Meanwhile we did your nightly chores,--<br>Brought in the wood from out of doors,<br>Littered the stalls, and from the mows<br>Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows;<br>Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;<br>And, sharply clashing horn on horn,<br>Impatient down the stanchion rows<br>The cattle shake their walnut bows;<br>While, peering from his early perch<br>Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,<br>The cock his crested helmet bent<br>And down his querulous challenge sent.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unwarmed by any sunset light<br>The gray day darkened into night,<br>A night made hoary with the swarm<br>And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,<br>As zigzag, wavering to and fro<br>Crossed and recrossed the wing&egrave;d snow:<br>And ere the early bed-time came<br>The white drift piled the window-frame,<br>And through the glass the clothes-line posts<br>Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> *<br>			 <br>As night drew on, and, from the crest<br>Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,<br>The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank<br>From sight beneath the smothering bank,<br>We piled, with care, our nightly stack<br>Of wood against the chimney-back,--<br>The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,<br>And on its top the stout back-stick;<br>The knotty forestick laid apart,<br>And filled between with curious art<br>The ragged brush; then, hovering near,<br>We watched the first red blaze appear,<br>Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam<br>On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,<br>Until the old, rude-furnished room<br>Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;<br>While radiant with a mimic flame<br>Outside the sparkling drift became,<br>And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree<br>Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.<br>The crane and pendent trammels showed,<br>The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;<br>While childish fancy, prompt to tell<br>The meaning of the miracle,<br>Whispered the old rhyme: &quot;Under the tree,<br>When fire outdoors burns merrily,<br>There the witches are making tea.&quot;<br>The moon above the eastern wood<br>Shone at its full; the hill-range stood<br>Transfigured in the silver flood,<br>Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,<br>Dead white, save where some sharp ravine<br>Took shadow, or the somber green<br>Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black<br>Against the whiteness at their back.<br>For such a world and such a night<br>Most fitting that unwarming light,<br>Which only seemed where'er it fell<br>To make the coldness visible.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</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=420497" data-title="From "Snow-Bound," 11:1-40, 116-154 de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank f..."></div>
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