Snow-bound: a winter idyl (Google eBook)

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Ticknor and Fields, 1868 - 51 pages
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Review: Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl

User Review  - Lori Olson - Goodreads

A Quaker poet who came into his writing discipline later in life. The story poem of Snowbound is so elegantly written, engorged with life applications and endearing memories, that I found myself ... Read full review

Review: Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl

User Review  - David - Goodreads

A mature, reflective piece that I was ready and in the right frame of mind for. Worked well for me. Read full review

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Page 12 - up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood ; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road ; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat ; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof,
Page 12 - All day the hoary meteor fell ; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, A universe of sky and snow ! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes ; strange domes and
Page 47 - But sleep stole on, as sleep will do When hearts are light and life is new ; Faint and more faint the murmurs grew, Till in the summer-land of dreams They softened to the sound of streams, Low stir of leaves, and dip of oars, And lapsing "waves on quiet shores. Next morn we wakened with the
Page 24 - Our mother, while she turned her wheel Or run the new-knit stocking-heel, Told how the Indian hordes came down At midnight on Cochecho town, And how her own great-uncle bore His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore. Recalling, in her fitting phrase, So rich and picturesque and free, (The common unrhymed poetry Of simple
Page 47 - Of merry voices high and clear ; And saw the teamsters drawing near To break the drifted highways out. Down the long hillside treading slow We saw the half-buried oxen go, Shaking the snow from heads uptost, Their straining nostrils white with frost. Before our door the straggling train Drew up, an added team to gain.
Page 24 - and country ways,) The story of her early days, She made us welcome to her home ; Old hearths grew wide to give us room ; We stole with her a frightened look At the gray wizard's conjuring-book, The fame whereof went far and wide Through all the simple country side ; We heard the hawks at twilight play,
Page 45 - And hope for all the language is, That He remembereth we are dust ! i-- At last the great logs, crumbling low, ^ Sent out a dull and duller glow, The bull's-eye watch that hung in view, Ticking its weary circuit through, Pointed with mutely-warning sign Its black hand to the hour of nine. That sign the pleasant circle broke
Page 45 - Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray And laid it tenderly away, Then roused himself to safely cover The dull red brands with ashes over. And while, with care, our mother laid The work aside, her steps she stayed One moment, seeking to express
Page 7 - And veils the farm-house at the garden's end. The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
Page 9 - HE sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, .It sank from sight before it set. A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold,

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