Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
ca-guilfoylePoems
White are the far-off plains, and white The fading forests grow; The wind dies out along the height, And denser still the snow, A gathering weight on roof and tree, Falls down scarce audibly. The road before me smooths and fills Apace, and all about The fences dwindle, and the hills Are blotted slowly out; The naked trees loom spectrally Into the dim white sky. The meadows and far-sheeted streams Lie still without a sound; Like some soft minister of dreams The snow-fall hoods me round; In wood and water, earth and air, A silence everywhere. Save when at lonely intervals Some farmer's sleigh, urged on, With rustling runners and sharp bells, Swings by me and is gone; Or from the empty waste I hear A sound remote and clear; The barking of a dog, or call To cattle, sharply pealed, Borne echoing from some wayside stall Or barnyard far a-field; Then all is silent, and the snow Falls, settling soft and slow. The evening deepens, and the gray Folds closer earth and sky; The world seems shrouded far away; Its noises sleep, and I, As secret as yon buried stream, Plod dumbly on, and dream. Archibald Lampman
0
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Snow - by Archibald Lampman
White are the far-off plains, and white The fading forests grow; The wind dies out along the height, And denser still the snow, A gathering weight on roof and tree, Falls down scarce audibly. The road before me smooths and fills Apace, and all about The fences dwindle, and the hills Are blotted slowly out; The naked trees loom spectrally Into the dim white sky. The meadows and far-sheeted streams Lie still without a sound; Like some soft minister of dreams The snow-fall hoods me round; In wood and water, earth and air, A silence everywhere. Save when at lonely intervals Some farmer's sleigh, urged on, With rustling runners and sharp bells, Swings by me and is gone; Or from the empty waste I hear A sound remote and clear; The barking of a dog, or call To cattle, sharply pealed, Borne echoing from some wayside stall Or barnyard far a-field; Then all is silent, and the snow Falls, settling soft and slow. The evening deepens, and the gray Folds closer earth and sky; The world seems shrouded far away; Its noises sleep, and I, As secret as yon buried stream, Plod dumbly on, and dream. Archibald Lampman
One of my all time favorite winter poems
ca-guilfoyle
Written by
ca-guilfoyle
F
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem