How strange the scene,—the winds no longer blow
And quiet reigns; but how the wind-tossed snow
Disguises mother earth, until things seem
To be transfigured by some mystic dream.
The firs are spotless white and bending low
Beneath their heavy load of new made snow;
The regal elm-trees lift their mighty arms,
With snow and frost upon their leafless palms
And stand like giants in the morning light,
Their shaggy bark half showing through the white;
Each fence and hedge has caught the feathery down—
The garden gate-post wears a regal crown;
The rose-bush too, is loaded by the storm,
And every shrub has changed its old time form.
And quiet reigns; but how the wind-tossed snow
Disguises mother earth, until things seem
To be transfigured by some mystic dream.
The firs are spotless white and bending low
Beneath their heavy load of new made snow;
The regal elm-trees lift their mighty arms,
With snow and frost upon their leafless palms
And stand like giants in the morning light,
Their shaggy bark half showing through the white;
Each fence and hedge has caught the feathery down—
The garden gate-post wears a regal crown;
The rose-bush too, is loaded by the storm,
And every shrub has changed its old time form.
But soon the heavy teams, with boys and men,
Will come to break the drifted roads again
And pierce the deepest drifts and pile them high
And let the merry sleighing party by;
For well New England young folks love the air,
The frost, the wind, the cold, the snow's white glare
And all the bitter cold and nipping frost,
But lends enchantment to the merry coast.
Will come to break the drifted roads again
And pierce the deepest drifts and pile them high
And let the merry sleighing party by;
For well New England young folks love the air,
The frost, the wind, the cold, the snow's white glare
And all the bitter cold and nipping frost,
But lends enchantment to the merry coast.
55
