Classic Poem

Oh , happy was that winter day
Which bore me from the town away.
A soft gray day, with low-hung clouds
And mist that all the distance shrouds.
How sweet the wide horizon line,
The bare gray trees, the olive pine,
The swelling fields and frozen brook,
The patch of snow in sheltered nook,
And everywhere an icy lace
Covered the lovely country's face.

The rugged oaks held up their arms
And proudly wore their shining crown,
The elm-trees shook with vague alarms,
By glittering jewels weighted down.
The grass, the stubble of the field
All glistened with their lovely gems,
The goldenrods ice sceptres wield,
The ferns have crystal diadems.
And like a bride, the fair birch-tree
Bends low beneath her pearly veil.
A widowed bride perchance is she,
Who ever must her love bewail.
And o'er the icebound trees and plains,
Supreme a lovely silence reigns.
O Summer, thou art prodigal,
And from thy lavish hand,
O'er all the happy land,
The many colored blossoms fall,
Till dulled with pleasure, wearied eyes
Thy bounteous beauty hardly prize.
But chary Winter with his blight
Comes soon upon thy rapid flight.
Shorn of their flaming glory
The roadsides now are hoary.
He opens the mind's inner eye,
Which hidden beauties can espy.
The crown of seeds the aster bears
More starlike than the flower appears;
The tarnished red of rose hip glows
With more of beauty than the rose;
And green upon the frozen ground
The potentilla still is found.
For Winter hath the earth arrayed
As Puritan, a saintly maid
Whose sombre garments but express
Her tender grace and loveliness.

Dear Winter, lay thy cooling hand
Upon my heart, and bid it rest,
Oh, bid it stay, at thy command;
Its troubled throbbings in my breast.
The buds thou holdest will unclose,
The wealth of summer to increase.
Give me thy trustful, sweet repose,
Give me thy tranquil, holy peace.