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;

[46]

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