Vale, forest, town, and misty eminence,

A miracle of color and of beauty.

I had walked out, as I remember now,

With covered ears, for the bright air was keen,

To southward up the gleaming snow-packed fields,

With the snowshoer's long rejoicing stride,

Marching at ease. It was a radiant day

In February, the month of the great struggle

'Twixt sun and frost, when with advancing spears,

The glittering golden vanguard of the spring

Holds the broad winter's yet unbroken rear

In long-closed wavering contest. Thin pale threads

[Pg 32]

Like streaks of ash across the far off blue

Were drawn, nor seemed to move. A brooding silence

Kept all the land, a stillness as of sleep;

But in the east the grey and motionless woods,

Watching the great sun's fiery slow decline,

Grew deep with gold. To westward all was silver.

An hour had passed above me; I had reached

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