When winter winds are piercing chill, <br /> And through the hawthorn blows the gale, <br />With solemn feet I tread the hill, <br /> That overbrows the lonely vale. <br /> <br />O'er the bare upland, and away <br /> Through the long reach of desert woods, <br />The embracing sunbeams chastely play, <br /> And gladden these deep solitudes. <br /> <br />Where, twisted round the barren oak, <br /> The summer vine in beauty clung, <br />And summer winds the stillness broke, <br /> The crystal icicle is hung. <br /> <br />Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs <br /> Pour out the river's gradual tide, <br />Shrilly the skater's iron rings, <br /> And voices fill the woodland side. <br /> <br />Alas! how changed from the fair scene, <br /> When birds sang out their mellow lay, <br />And winds were soft, and woods were green, <br /> And the song ceased not with the day! <br /> <br />But still wild music is abroad, <br /> Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; <br />And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, <br /> Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. <br /> <br />Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear <br /> Has grown familiar with your song; <br />I hear it in the opening year, <br /> I listen, and it cheers me long.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woods-in-winter/
