Letras
White are the far off plains,
And white the fading forest grow.
The wind dies out along the height,
And denser still, the snow --
A gathering weight on roof and tree --
Falls down scarce audibly.
The meadows and far, sheeted streams
Lie still without a sound.
Like some soft minister of dreams,
The snowfall hoods me around.
In wood and water, earth and air,
A silence is everywhere.
Save when at lonely spells,
Some farmer's sleigh, urged on,
With rustling runners and sharp bells,
Swings by me and is gone --
Or from the empty space, I hear
A sound remote and clear.
The evening deepens and gray
Folds closer earth and sky.
The world seems shrouded,
So far away.
Its noises sleep, and I,
I secret as yon buried streams,
Plod dumbly on and dream.
I dream.
I dream.
I dream.