The frost that stings like fire upon my cheek, <br /> The loneliness of this forsaken ground, <br /> The long white drift upon whose powdered peak <br /> I sit in the great silence as one bound; <br /> The rippled sheet of snow where the wind blew <br /> Across the open fields for miles ahead; <br /> The far-off city towered and roofed in blue <br /> A tender line upon the western red; <br /> The stars that singly, then in flocks appear, <br /> Like jets of silver from the violet dome, <br /> So wonderful, so many and so near, <br /> And then the golden moon to light me home-- <br /> The crunching snowshoes and the stinging air, <br /> And silence, frost, and beauty everywhere.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-uplands/
