Winter

How beautiful is Winter! Earth hath put
Her snowy vesture on, and the wide fields
Glisten beneath the radiance of the sun,
A waveless ocean of most dazzling white.
In the slant sunbeams flashing, the tall trees
Lift up their jeweled crests, with regal pride,
As conscious of their beauty,—and, at times,
By the faint wind caressed, profusely fling
Down to the earth, the burden of their gems.
The Frost, with his most cunning ministry,
Hath visited the streams, whose drowsy song,
Through the long summer time, continuously
Stirred the soft air—and stream and song are still:
Yet might the ripple’s curl deceive the eye,
So much it looks like motion—and the wave
Still seems to fret along its rocky bed,
And dash adown the cascade with its spray.
     Where, o’er the deep ravine, he precipice
Frowns, and the water from its hidden springs
Trickled, erewhile, along the rocky ledge
And sought with frequent plunge the depth below,
See! in what varied and fantastic forms
Those drops, congealed, are wrought! Ho different all;
Yet all, how beautiful! Pillars of pearl,
Propping the cliffs above—stalactites bright
From the ice-roof depending; and beneath,
Grottoes and temples with their crystal spires
And gleaming columns radiant in the sun—
Thrones carved from purest porphyry, whereon sit
Tall warrior-forms in coats of dazzling mail—
And strown profusely over all, rich gems
Shifting, with rainbow hues, and flashing back
The intrusive sunlight—these are thine, Oh Frost!
Thy marvelous doings, wizard Architect!
For thus thou praisest God!—and we will praise
His name with hymns, that He has sent us thee
With power to make the Winter beautiful.