{"id":24197,"date":"2008-12-21T18:00:00","date_gmt":"2008-12-21T22:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/2008\/12\/snowbound-the-sun-that-brief-d\/"},"modified":"2008-12-21T18:00:00","modified_gmt":"2008-12-21T22:00:00","slug":"snowbound-the-sun-that-brief-d","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/2008\/12\/snowbound-the-sun-that-brief-d\/","title":{"rendered":"Snow-Bound [The sun that brief December day]"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Thumbnail<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
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\n<\/a><\/span>  <\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

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<\/font><\/span> <\/p>\n

by John Greenleaf Whittier <\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

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<\/font> <\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n

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The sun that brief December day<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Rose cheerless over hills of gray,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And, darkly circled, gave at noon<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

A sadder light than waning moon.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Slow tracing down the thickening sky<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Its mute and ominous prophecy,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

A portent seeming less than threat,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

It sank from sight before it set.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

A chill no coat, however stout,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

    <\/span>A hard, dull bitterness of cold,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

That checked, mid-vein, the circling race<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of life-blood in the sharpened face,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

    <\/span>The coming of the snow-storm told.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The wind blew east: we heard the roar<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of Ocean on his wintry shore, <\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And felt the strong pulse throbbing there<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Beat with low rhythm our inland air.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Meanwhile we did your nightly chores,–<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Brought in the wood from out of doors,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Littered the stalls, and from the mows<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Raked down the herd’s-grass for the cows;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And, sharply clashing horn on horn,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Impatient down the stanchion rows<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The cattle shake their walnut bows;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

While, peering from his early perch<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Upon the scaffold’s pole of birch,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The cock his crested helmet bent<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And down his querulous challenge sent.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/font><\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

Unwarmed by any sunset light<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The gray day darkened into night,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

A night made hoary with the swarm<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

As zigzag, wavering to and fro<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Crossed and recrossed the wingèd snow:<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And ere the early bed-time came<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The white drift piled the window-frame,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And through the glass the clothes-line posts<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/font><\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n

   
\n\"winter<\/a><\/span><\/span><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

As night drew on, and, from the crest<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

From sight beneath the smothering bank,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

We piled, with care, our nightly stack<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of wood against the chimney-back,–<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And on its top the stout back-stick;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The knotty forestick laid apart,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And filled between with curious art<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

We watched the first red blaze appear,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Until the old, rude-furnished room<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

While radiant with a mimic flame<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Outside the sparkling drift became,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The crane and pendent trammels showed,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The Turks’ heads on the andirons glowed;<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

While childish fancy, prompt to tell<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The meaning of the miracle,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Whispered the old rhyme: “Under the tree,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

When fire outdoors burns merrily,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

There the witches are making tea.”<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

The moon above the eastern wood<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Shone at its full; the hill-range stood<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Transfigured in the silver flood,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Dead white, save where some sharp ravine<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Took shadow, or the somber green<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Against the whiteness at their back.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

For such a world and such a night<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Most fitting that unwarming light,<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

Which only seemed where’er it fell<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n

To make the coldness visible.<\/o:p><\/font><\/span><\/p>\n<\/td>\n

<\/font><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

<\/font><\/o:p><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

      by John Greenleaf Whittier   The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon. Slow tracing down the thickening sky Its mute and ominous prophecy, A portent seeming less than threat, It sank from sight before it … Continue reading Snow-Bound [The sun that brief December day]<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[16],"tags":[1881],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24197"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24197"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24197\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24197"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24197"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/communio.stblogs.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24197"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}