Classic Poem

All, all around was desolate and bare.
The fields were tenantless. The woods lay black.
A formless something seemed to fill the air
With spirit-presence. In the cloudy rack
Strange shapes appeared; majestical and wan
Were some, and some were hideous as Hell.
The buried brook with frightened murmur ran,
Like damned ones muttering what they dare not tell.
The wind came o'er the hill with sullen power,
Hissing through sifted snow and grasses sere.
The spirit of darkness ruled the midnight hour,
The ghastly earth and heavens all sinister.
But in that waste I found one little spot
Where gloom to brightness yielded, and was not.
On swaying branches hung a thousand gems,
Such gems as ne'er to mortal hand were given,
And every snow-wreath gleamed with diadems,
Like Purity encrowned by smiling Heaven.