The Winter Landscape

So pure and cold, the bleachèd Snow
That loads the pine, and crowds the wood,
That even as I lonely go,
I feel no touch of Solitude.

This drapery hangs so loosely o'er
The leafless boughs, a passing breeze
Shakes down a tribute to the floor,
For life the Seasons cannot freeze.

And merry sounds the passing Sleigh,
In this bright Winter's softened air,
For Nature ever will be gay,
Her seeds, soft Blossoms ever bear.

You could not frown or scowl abroad,
Whate'er your indoor malice plied,
So bountiful this winter Lord,
So splendidly his thought supplied.

Like marble pillars are the tall
Straight, oaken boles that close the lane,
And alabaster carves the wall,
The very path is free from stain.

What if this wondrous purity
Should pass within the human Will?
But Winter will not always be,
And Summer smiles above that hill.
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