06 November 2013

Winter Morning - An 1870 Poem

By Albion.
Bright the eastern sky is beaming
On the earth's fresh dress of snow,
Flushed with sky tins softly gleaming
That no pencil's touch can show.
Dressed in crystals, gay and shining,
Every branch both high and low,
All the diamond's hues combining,
Sparkles in the morning's glow.
Slowly like a serpent twining,
Darkly blue, the waters flow;
While colors, like the pearl shell's lining,
Tint the banks of virgin snow.
Like the summer's spectres frighted,
Darkly looms the evergreen
On the hillside dimly lighted
By the winter morning's sheen.
In the woods the jays are winging
Back and forth from tree to tree,
To the cheery martin singing
Or the merry chickadee.
The squirrels start up from their napping
In the hollow maple tree,
Where the woodpecker is tapping
All around his reveille.
'Neath the turquoise vault go streaming
Crowds of jetty crows — that fly,
Like Night's rearguard, from the gleaming
Of the rosy morning sky.
Up there, when the Night's reign closes,
All who Health's great prize would seek;
For though Winter claims no roses,
Still he plants them in the check.
March 2, 1870. Clearfield Republican 10(32): 1, new series.