December

Beneath a shroud of unpolluted white,

The frozen hills lie silent and asleep;

And moveless spruce and ghostly birches keep

Their silent vigils through the endless night.

The frozen creeks, long voiceless, partly veiled

‘ Neath drifting snow, dream fondly of the trees;

Within the woods no bird's song and no breeze

Make wondrous music when the skies have paled.

The kingly sun ne'er sends his laughing rays

To wake the hills and warm the trees and streams;

His face is hid, and hid are now the beams

That woke the world on long-dead summer days.

The patient moon with all her silent train

Of maiden stars patrols the roads on high,

And watches well all things that sleeping lie

Till Spring's first song shall waken them again.

The white world sleeps, and all is very still,

Except when rises on the frosted air

From out its chilly and forbidding lair

A lone wolf's howl, long-drawn and terrible.