Thank you for visiting SNEWPapers!
Sign up free
Poem
January 2, 1837
Lynchburg Virginian
Lynchburg, Virginia
What is this article about?
A meditative poem on a winter landscape where nature is frozen and silent, contrasting with vibrant spring, foreseeing the thaw's return to life while reflecting on human mortality, as some who once enjoyed the solitudes will remain dead beneath the reviving earth.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
The arrested stream is silent; the broad lake
Gives back no dimple to the eddying wind:
No shadowy furrows streak its gleaming plane.
The trees are hung with wreaths of pendent gems:
The mountains seem embodiments of light,
Keeping their bright crowns in the blue of heaven.
So lustrous, fair, and spirit-like they stand
In their investiture of purity.
Is this the river that in voiceful spring
To its own music danced through banks of flowers?
The lake where lightly rocked the gilded bark,
And the proud swan led forth her crested brood?
And are yon hills the same, whose fertile sides
Zoned with all grades of verdure, sent towards heaven
Commingling incense on the mists of morn?
All are the same, and yonder brilliant sun,
That scarcely warms the dazzling landscape now,
Shall melt them back to life—the hills shall yield
Of their dissolving robes to swell the stream,
Which to the lake shall pour its tribute tide:
The lake shall feed the clouds, and their dark folds
Shade the young roses from the kindling beam.
Earth shall yield up her vegetable dead:
But of all those who pressed her last spring flowers,
Many shall rest beneath them—some that roved
These solitudes and made her echoes ring
With wild, heart-bubbling laughter, shall be still,
Yea, chambered in that vast unlighted hall,
To which earth's surface forms one mighty roof.
Which, with mad mirth, its coming tenants tread!
Gives back no dimple to the eddying wind:
No shadowy furrows streak its gleaming plane.
The trees are hung with wreaths of pendent gems:
The mountains seem embodiments of light,
Keeping their bright crowns in the blue of heaven.
So lustrous, fair, and spirit-like they stand
In their investiture of purity.
Is this the river that in voiceful spring
To its own music danced through banks of flowers?
The lake where lightly rocked the gilded bark,
And the proud swan led forth her crested brood?
And are yon hills the same, whose fertile sides
Zoned with all grades of verdure, sent towards heaven
Commingling incense on the mists of morn?
All are the same, and yonder brilliant sun,
That scarcely warms the dazzling landscape now,
Shall melt them back to life—the hills shall yield
Of their dissolving robes to swell the stream,
Which to the lake shall pour its tribute tide:
The lake shall feed the clouds, and their dark folds
Shade the young roses from the kindling beam.
Earth shall yield up her vegetable dead:
But of all those who pressed her last spring flowers,
Many shall rest beneath them—some that roved
These solitudes and made her echoes ring
With wild, heart-bubbling laughter, shall be still,
Yea, chambered in that vast unlighted hall,
To which earth's surface forms one mighty roof.
Which, with mad mirth, its coming tenants tread!
What sub-type of article is it?
Ode
Pastoral
What themes does it cover?
Nature Seasons
Death Mourning
What keywords are associated?
Winter Landscape
Seasonal Change
Nature Cycle
Human Mortality
Frozen River
Melting Thaw
Spring Flowers
Death Reflection
Poem Details
Subject
Winter Landscape And Mortality
Form / Style
Blank Verse
Key Lines
Is This The River That In Voiceful Spring
To Its Own Music Danced Through Banks Of Flowers?
Earth Shall Yield Up Her Vegetable Dead:
But Of All Those Who Pressed Her Last Spring Flowers,
Many Shall Rest Beneath Them
Yea, Chambered In That Vast Unlighted Hall,
To Which Earth's Surface Forms One Mighty Roof.