Classic Poem

The ice-storm held: we walked in the wood.
In curtains of darkness the black cedars stood,

And gyved in glass the beech trees shone
Upright and glistening, stately and wan.

The path was frosted, the rocks were glazed,
Not a bird-note sounded, all things were dazed,

But far and near like flute upon flute
Came the tinkle and tankle of cold ice-fruit,

And a wandering voice from the boughs above
Said " This is the place called Tranquillity Grove. "