Archibald Lampman

Winter-Solitude

I saw the city’s towers on a luminous pale-gray sky;
  Beyond them a hill of the softest mistiest green,
  With naught but frost and the coming of night between,
  And a long thin cloud above the colour of August rye.
  I sat in the midst of a plain on my snowshoes with bended knee
  Where the thin wind stung my cheeks,
  And the hard snow ran in little ripples and peaks,
  Like the fretted floor of a white and petrified sea.
  And a strange peace gathered about my soul and shone,
 As I sat reflecting there,
 In a world so mystically fair,
 So deathly silent—I so utterly alone.
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