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Title: A January Morning
Category: Other
Blog Entry: The glittering roofs are still with frost; each worn Black chimney builds into the quiet sky Its curling pile to crumble silently. Far out to westward on the edge of morn, The slender misty city towers up-borne Glimmer faint rose against the pallid blue; And yonder on those northern hills, the hue Of amethyst, hang fleeces dull as horn. And here behind me come the woodmen's sleighs With shouts and clamorous squeakings; might and main Up the steep slope the horses stamp and strain, Urged on by hoarse-tongued drivers—cheeks ablaze, Iced beards and frozen eyelids—team by team, With frost-fringed flanks, and nostrils jetting steam. My profile   My resume  My videos  My blog