I saw the city's towers on a luminous pale-gray sky; <br /> Beyond them a hill of the softest mistiest green, <br /> With naught but frost and the coming of night between, <br /> And a long thin cloud above the colour of August rye. <br /> I sat in the midst of a plain on my snowshoes with bended knee <br /> Where the thin wind stung my cheeks, <br /> And the hard snow ran in little ripples and peaks, <br /> Like the fretted floor of a white and petrified sea. <br /> And a strange peace gathered about my soul and shone, <br /> As I sat reflecting there, <br /> In a world so mystically fair, <br /> So deathly silent--I so utterly alone.<br /><br />Archibald Lampman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-solitude-2/
