With naught but frost and the coming of night between,
And a long thin cloud above the colour of August rye.
I sat in the midst of a plain on my snowshoes with bended knee
Where the thin wind stung my cheeks,
And the hard snow ran in little ripples and peaks,
Like the fretted floor of a white and petrified sea.
And a strange peace gathered about my soul and shone,
As I sat reflecting there,
In a world so mystically fair,
So deathly silent–I so utterly alone.
Yet first take heed to what your own hands do;By deeds not words the souls of men are taught;Good lives alone are fruitful; they are caughtInto the fountain of all life (wherethroughMen’s souls that drink are broken or made new)Like drops of heavenly elixir, fraughtWith the clear essence of eternal youth.Even one little deed of…
And rebel though takes schoolboy’s holiday,Rejoicing in its idle strength. ‘Tis then,And only at such moments, that we knowThe treasure of hours gone-scenes once beheld,Sweet voices and words bright and beautiful,Impetuous deeds that woke the God within us,The loveliness of forms and thoughts and colors,A moment marked and then as soon forgotten.These things are ever…
And night shall darken down. In shouting fileThe woodmen’s carts go by me homeward-wheeled,Past the thin fading stubbles, half concealed,Now golden-gray, sowed softly through with snow,Where the last ploughman follows still his row,Turning black furrows through the whitening field.Far off the village lamps begin to gleam,Fast drives the snow, and no man comes this way;The…
Are not crusts and garments oldBetter for their souls than these?Gold is but the juggling rodOf a false usurping god,Graven long ago in hellWith a sombre stony spell,Working in the world forever.Hate is not so strong to severBeating human heart from heart.Soul from soul we shrink and part,And no longer hail each otherWith the ancient…
To whom the voices of all rest are given,And those few stars whose scattered names are told,Far off beyond the westward hills outrolled,Darker than thou, more still, more dreamy even,The golden moon leans in the dusky heaven,And under the one star-a point of gold:And all go slowly lingering toward the west,As we go down forgetfully…
The bittersweet hangs from the topsOf the alders and cherriesIts bunches of beautiful berries,Orange and red.And the snowbirds flee,Tossing up on the far brown field,Now flashing and now concealed,Like fringes of sprayThat vanish and gleam on the grayField of the sea.Flickering light,Come the last of the leaves down borne,And patches of pale white cornIn the…
