'Snow Bound'

From ‘Snow Bound’

John Greenleaf Whittier

The moon above the eastern wood

Shone at its full; the hill-range stood

Transfigured in the silver flood.

Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,

Dead white, save where some sharp

ravine

Took shadow, or the somber green

Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black

Against the whiteness at their back.

For such a world and such a night

Most fitting that unwarming light,

Which only seemed wherever it fell

To make the coldness visible.