Excerpt from Far From the Stone Streets: Poems

Sleighing

Here are we nestled, warm and snug,
Within the cutter's perfumed rug,
And swiftly o'er the light road skim
Toward the hills that far and dim
Lie on the cold horizon's rim.

Away, away! the snow is white,
The air is clear, the moon is bright.
To backward glance the village spires,
Tipped with their pale up-pointing fires,
Fade as a holy thought expires.

Away! tonight our company
The spirits of the frost shall be,
We'll chase the flying bells whose play
On moonlit meadows far away
Is softened to a murmur gay.

Away through villages that lie
Like silver jewels, gliding by
The river's gleaming stream of steel,
Whose fringe of ice the waves conceal
That echo back our sleigh bells' peal.

Here stands a quiet farmhouse, there
A stretch of glistening fields lies bare,
Here thickets, robed in white array,
Climb the steep banks, and sharply lay
Dark shadows o'er our rapid way.

The shaken trees their crystals fling,
That shatter with an airy ring,
And hark! a mocking ripple swells
From where the covered streamlet wells
And tinkles through its icy cells.

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