A Winter Morning

The keen, clear air — the splendid sight —
We waken to a world of ice;
Where all things are enshrined in light,
As by some genii's quaint device.

'T is winter's jubilee: this day
Her stores their countless treasures yield;
See how the diamond glances play,
In ceaseless blaze, from tree and field.

The cold, bare spot, where late we ranged,
The naked woods are seen no more;
This earth to fairy-land is changed,
With glittering silver sheeted o'er.

The morning sun, with cloudless rays,
His powerless splendor round us streams;
From crusted boughs and twinkling sprays
Fly back unloosed the rainbow beams.

With more than summer beauty fair,
The trees in winter's garb are shown:
What a rich halo melts in air,
Around their crystal branches thrown!

And yesterday — how changed the view
From what then charmed us; when the sky
Hung, with its dim and watery hue,
O'er all the soft, still prospect nigh!

The distant groves, arrayed in white,
Might then like things unreal seem,
Just shown awhile in silvery light,
The fictions of a poets' dream.

Like shadowy groves upon that shore,
O'er which Elysium's twilight lay,
By bards and sages feigned of yore,
Ere broke on earth heaven's brighter day.

O God of nature! with what might
Of beauty, showered on all below,
Thy guiding power would lead aright
Earth's wanderer all thy love to know!