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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538000" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Catterskill Falls</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps,<br>From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;<br>All summer he moistens his verdant steeps<br>With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;<br>And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,<br>When they drip with the rains of autumn-tide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But when, in the forest bare and old,<br>The blast of December calls,<br>He builds, in the starlight clear and cold,<br>A palace of ice where his torrent falls,<br>With turret, and arch, and fretwork fair,<br>And pillars blue as the summer air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For whom are those glorious chambers wrought,<br>In the cold and cloudless night?<br>Is there neither spirit nor motion of thought<br>In forms so lovely, and hues so bright?<br>Hear what the gray-haired woodmen tell<br>Of this wild stream and its rocky dell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas hither a youth of dreamy mood,<br>A hundred winters ago,<br>Had wandered over the mighty wood,<br>When the panther's track was fresh on the snow,<br>And keen were the winds that came to stir<br>The long dark boughs of the hemlock fir.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Too gentle of mien he seemed and fair,<br>For a child of those rugged steeps;<br>His home lay low in the valley where<br>The kingly Hudson rolls to the deeps;<br>But he wore the hunter's frock that day,<br>And a slender gun on his shoulder lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And here he paused, and against the trunk<br>Of a tall gray linden leant,<br>When the broad clear orb of the sun had sunk<br>From his path in the frosty firmament,<br>And over the round dark edge of the hill<br>A cold green light was quivering still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the crescent moon, high over the green,<br>From a sky of crimson shone,<br>On that icy palace, whose towers were seen<br>To sparkle as if with stars of their own;<br>While the water fell with a hollow sound,<br>'Twixt the glistening pillars ranged around.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is that a being of life, that moves<br>Where the crystal battlements rise?<br>A maiden watching the moon she loves,<br>At the twilight hour, with pensive eyes?<br>Was that a garment which seemed to gleam<br>Betwixt the eye and the falling stream?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis only the torrent tumbling o'er,<br>In the midst of those glassy walls,<br>Gushing, and plunging, and beating the floor<br>Of the rocky basin in which it falls.<br>'Tis only the torrent--but why that start?<br>Why gazes the youth with a throbbing heart?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He thinks no more of his home afar,<br>Where his sire and sister wait.<br>He heeds no longer how star after star<br>Looks forth on the night as the hour grows late.<br>He heeds not the snow-wreaths, lifted and cast<br>From a thousand boughs, by the rising blast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His thoughts are alone of those who dwell<br>In the halls of frost and snow,<br>Who pass where the crystal domes upswell<br>From the alabaster floors below,<br>Where the frost-trees shoot with leaf and spray,<br>And frost-gems scatter a silvery day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And oh that those glorious haunts were mine!'<br>He speaks, and throughout the glen<br>Thin shadows swim in the faint moonshine,<br>And take a ghastly likeness of men,<br>As if the slain by the wintry storms<br>Came forth to the air in their earthly forms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There pass the chasers of seal and whale,<br>With their weapons quaint and grim,<br>And bands of warriors in glittering mail,<br>And herdsmen and hunters huge of limb.<br>There are naked arms, with bow and spear,<br>And furry gauntlets the carbine rear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are mothers--and oh how sadly their eyes<br>On their children's white brows rest!<br>There are youthful lovers--the maiden lies,<br>In a seeming sleep, on the chosen breast;<br>There are fair wan women with moonstruck air,<br>The snow stars flecking their long loose hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They eye him not as they pass along,<br>But his hair stands up with dread,<br>When he feels that he moves with that phantom throng,<br>Till those icy turrets are over his head,<br>And the torrent's roar as they enter seems<br>Like a drowsy murmur heard in dreams.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The glittering threshold is scarcely passed,<br>When there gathers and wraps him round<br>A thick white twilight, sullen and vast,<br>In which there is neither form nor sound;<br>The phantoms, the glory, vanish all,<br>With the dying voice of the waterfall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Slow passes the darkness of that trance,<br>And the youth now faintly sees<br>Huge shadows and gushes of light that dance<br>On a rugged ceiling of unhewn trees,<br>And walls where the skins of beasts are hung,<br>And rifles glitter on antlers strung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a couch of shaggy skins he lies;<br>As he strives to raise his head,<br>Hard-featured woodmen, with kindly eyes,<br>Come round him and smooth his furry bed<br>And bid him rest, for the evening star<br>Is scarcely set and the day is far.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They had found at eve the dreaming one<br>By the base of that icy steep,<br>When over his stiffening limbs begun<br>The deadly slumber of frost to creep,<br>And they cherished the pale and breathless form,<br>Till the stagnant blood ran free and warm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</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=538000" data-title="Catterskill Falls de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="Midst greens and shades the Catterskill leaps,
From cliffs where the wood-flower clings;
All summer he moistens his verdant steeps
With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs;
And he shakes the woods on the mountain side,
When they drip wit..."></div>
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