Earth cannot see the charms that round her lie,
Nor feel the icy winds that tear and sweep:
Beneath the winter snow she lies asleep.
Out of the frozen forest comes the cry
Of the gray timber-wolf; and snow-owls fly
Above the fir-edged gullies, and where deep
River-carved canyons stretch, and crags rise steep,
And mountain-pyramids soar black and high.
Yet, in the long and solitary night,
I love to ride on deep, uncertain trails,
And feel wild-staring Winter's frozen breath;
While the pure, moonlit hills shine calm and white, And pines stand firmly, though the black wind wails, Waiting the ending of the winter-death.
I found a note beneath my cabin door,
Above the steps, snow-rounded, soft and white;
And by the snapping fire, in the lantern light,
It told that the flake-hidden valley-floor
Now rang with sleigh-bells, and the songs and lore
Of the Christmas Spell spoke in the wind at night;
For, in dark kitchens, elf and fairy sprite
Baked secret pies and puddings; and the store
In the little village shone with trinkets striped
With gold and red, and shaped like eggs and bells
And spinning tops, in windows flaked and veiled.
Then in the night small mountain-voices piped,
And winds, with glorias like organ swells,
Over the sparkling hills and forest sailed.
The road is broken to the town; and bright
With pale blue fire upon the hardened snow
Glisten the sleigh-tracks. Cabin windows glow
From distant trees. As winter birds in flight
Sail through the clouds, I glide on through the white
High mounds and drifts. The silver bells sing low
With streams that through their crystal ice-caves flow,
To radiant groups of stars, that fill the night
With silver showers. Through the light of dawn
Rise spires, and smoke-lines rest, suspended still
Beneath the clouds, where circling pigeons fly.
And now the morning sun-fire strikes upon
The spires, the snow-road, and the rounded hill,
And wakes to day this City of the Sky.
How sweet it is, in the lone settler's eyes,
To see the village decked in Christmas green!
And faces of old comrades, seldom seen-
The hearty shakes, the smiles of bright surprise!
To see, when from the sky the sunlight dies,
Dark lines of shadow spread across the sheen
Of snowy roofs, with edges cold and clean,
From fretting elm-trees, when the ice-wind cries:
Returning in the night through scattered pines,
To see again the cabin, standing still
And dark against the skies and heavy snows.
A single star behind its chimney shines;
The frozen trees stand out upon the hill:
But now my furnace laughs and smokes and glows!
Joy to run deep beyond the forest's edge!
Here stand deserted cabins with deep snow
Inside and out. Here with a long gray bow
A fir-tree stands. With crosscut saw and wedge,
Keen-bladed ax and heavy-pounding sledge,
I shape curved runners, and with heigh and ho
Deeper into the tamaracks I go
Over the snowfields. Here a willow hedge
Trims the low gully; now the valley floor
Gleams down afar; now dark the forest grows,
And pounding currents boom within the gorge.
Joy to be in the woods and hear the roar
Of flame that melts the ice, and screams and glows,
The woodman's hearth-fire, and the woodman's forge!
All day I trimmed the logs within the pines,
And chained them to the sled in evening's blue,
When muscles hum, and ears are humming too,
And through the woods the yellow sun-glow shines
And strikes the mountain's rim, with hues like wines.
I watched the rainbow-circled moon, that grew
Like a winter flower, and thought of friends I knew
Before the heavy snows; and looked for signs
Of the new spring. O Spring, come soon, come soon!
I long to ride far, in my new-built sleigh,
Into the hills, where comrades meet again.
Come with thy music and thy warmer moon!
Far through the valley we will ride, till day
Gleams on the valley and the distant plain!
Winter had bound the willow stems with locks
Of ice, and hung white horns on cabin walls,
Edged all the fir-trees in the forest halls,
And hid the bushes, fences, logs and rocks.
Winter had heaped the river's edge with blocks
Of ice; and birch-tree branches beamed with balls
And beads of crystal. Now the distant calls
Of pheasants drummed, and speckled grouse in flocks
Rested on turbaned fence-posts, and the sun
Rose earlier to bless the crystal morn.
The beating lines of flakes no longer sped
Across the fields, or in the willows spun.
Out of the forest sounded the silver horn
Of Spring; and snow-floods to the river fled.
Far in the forest woodmen's axes rang,
And lower strayed the long-imprisoned deer;
From broken skies smiled April, mild and clear;
The bluejays laughed, the wild canaries sang.
The log-saw hummed; the sledge's heavy clang
Mixed with the woodmen's shouts of mirth and cheer.
In the bright sunlight of the turning year
Gold-drinking buttercups in meadows sprang.
Beneath the glancing sun, my golden clock,
Daily I plowed, and turned fresh-sprinkled snow
Into the furrows, till the dusk fell gray.
At night, on roads of gleaming granite rock
I galloped to the village, deep below,
Where flute and banjo scorned the dawning day.
XIV. THE SUMMIT OF THE YEAR
From cherry orchards languid breezes bear
The blossoms, Summer's snowflakes, till they ride.
And, fluttering, fall where, by the bunch-grass, hide
The waxen petals of the prickly pear.
And yellow butterflies go floating where
The clover field lies deep and green and wide,
Over the pink-frilled bitterroot they glide
Into the forest, in the noonday glare.
Yet soon again shall bend the stems of grain
Over still waters. Soon the full-blown rose
Shall fall apart, by autumn heat oppressed.
The restless wind shall beat and toss again;
Over the fields shall spread new sunset snows-
The millwheel of the year has reached the crest!
Deserted home in the forest! scattered leaves
Blown by the winds of autumn strew thy floors!
Broken thy windows and ax-carven doors,
Winter within, a weary exile, grieves,
And for the roof a snowy mantle weaves.
Between the logs the summer sunlight pours,
And into them the yellowhammer bores.
Upon the field no longer lie the sheaves.
Yet, still the lightning throws across the sky
Fast-bending steel. At eve the Northern Bars
Of flame arise in ranks of glowing white.
The rising robins from the valley fly
Into the shadowing forest. Pilgrim stars
Pick up their staves and travel through the night!
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