Poems (Trask)/January
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For works with similar titles, see January.
POEMS OF THE SEASONS.
JANUARY.
The snow lies heavy on the hills,
The lowland wastes are white,
The sharp wind whistles shrill and cold
In the great elms, to-night;
And through the dim old hemlock woods
It heaves a quivering sigh,
And all the glittering host of stars
Listen and hear the cry;
While like a globe of frozen ice
The moon hangs in the sky.
The lowland wastes are white,
The sharp wind whistles shrill and cold
In the great elms, to-night;
And through the dim old hemlock woods
It heaves a quivering sigh,
And all the glittering host of stars
Listen and hear the cry;
While like a globe of frozen ice
The moon hangs in the sky.
The hazel's dainty twigs are white,
Touched by the silvery frost;
The hawthorn and the cedar hedge
In fleecy drifts are lost;
And down upon the broad blue lake
The waters take their rest
Beneath the crystal coffin-lid
Of ice upon their breast:
A conquered warrior, pinioned down,
The mill-wheel stands confessed.
Touched by the silvery frost;
The hawthorn and the cedar hedge
In fleecy drifts are lost;
And down upon the broad blue lake
The waters take their rest
Beneath the crystal coffin-lid
Of ice upon their breast:
A conquered warrior, pinioned down,
The mill-wheel stands confessed.
Out on the river's glittering plain
The skater's steel rings clear:
Winter's for him the carnival
Of all the beauteous year;
O'er the hard-trodden frozen track
The gay sleighs speed along,
The iron hoof-beats keeping time
To many a wild old song,
And underneath the soft fur robes
Young hearts beat high and strong.
The skater's steel rings clear:
Winter's for him the carnival
Of all the beauteous year;
O'er the hard-trodden frozen track
The gay sleighs speed along,
The iron hoof-beats keeping time
To many a wild old song,
And underneath the soft fur robes
Young hearts beat high and strong.
Midwinter! though we own thy reign
A tyrant's, yet, for all,
There are some. compensations still
Within thy frozen thrall!
With hope, and youth, and love for ours,
It's little grief to know
That all outside our fire-lit home
Is buried in the snow;
For when we live with those we love,
We bask in summer's glow.
A tyrant's, yet, for all,
There are some. compensations still
Within thy frozen thrall!
With hope, and youth, and love for ours,
It's little grief to know
That all outside our fire-lit home
Is buried in the snow;
For when we live with those we love,
We bask in summer's glow.