Soon as the glazed and gleaming snow <br />Reflects the day-dawn cold and clear, <br />The hunter of the west must go <br />In depth of woods to seek the deer. <br /> <br />His rifle on his shoulder placed, <br />His stores of death arranged with skill, <br />His moccasins and snow-shoes laced,-- <br />Why lingers he beside the hill? <br /> <br />Far, in the dim and doubtful light, <br />Where woody slopes a valley leave, <br />He sees what none but lover might, <br />The dwelling of his Genevieve. <br /> <br />And oft he turns his truant eye, <br />And pauses oft, and lingers near; <br />But when he marks the reddening sky, <br />He bounds away to hunt the deer.<br /><br />William Cullen Bryant<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-112/
