from The Seasons
Winter
White ermine now the mountains wear,
And shield with this their shoulders bare.
The dark pine wears the snow, as head
Of Ethiop doth white turban wear.
The floods are armed with silver shields,
Through which the Sun's sword cannot fare;
For he who once in mid heaven rode,
In golden arms, on golden chair,
Now through small corner of the sky
Creeps low, nor warms the foggy air.
To mutter 'twixt their teeth the streams,
In icy fetters, scarcely dare.
Hushed is the busy hum of life;
'Tis silence in the earth and air.
From mountains issues the gaunt wolf,
And from its forest depths the bear.
Where is the garden's beauty now?
The thorn is here; the rose, oh where?
The trees, like giant skeletons,
Wave high their fleshless arms and bare;
Or stand like wrestlers stripped and bold,
And strongest winds to battle dare.
It seems a thing impossible
That earth its glories should repair;
That ever this bleak world again
Should bright and beauteous mantle wear,
Or sounds of life again be heard
In this dull earth and vacant air.
~~
Richard Chenevix Trench (1807-1866)
from Poems, 1865
from Poems, 1865
[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]
"The Seasons" by Trench, read by Sonia for LibriVox. Courtesy Rhodoclassics.
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