Classic Poem

From depth of dusky dream I woke, and crossed
The new-fallen snow; the sunrise splendor burned
Along the sky, and like an alchemist turned
The many clouds, mild winds had deftly tossed
In shapes fantastical as those the frost
Graves on the window-pane, to crimsoned gold;
The changeful rosy mists, soft fold on fold,
Crept, lit with radiance, where my gazing lost
The curving sky; I stood within a vale
Engirt by shifting hills of glorious mist;
The morning air was glad with colored light,
The trees like nuns stood wrapt in cloaks of bright
Chaste snow, and from the chimney rose the pale
Slow smoke to skies that shone clear amethyst.