Page:The Writings of John Green Whittier (v.1).pdf/276

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NARRATIVE AND LEGENDARY POEMS.
Clear drawn against the hard blue sky, The peaks had winter’s keenness;And, close on autumn’s frost, the vales Had more than June’s fresh greenness.
Again the sodden forest floors With golden lights were checkered,Once more rejoicing leaves in wind And sunshine danced and flickered.
It was as if the summer’s late Atoning for it’s sadnessHad borrowed every season’s charm To end its days in gladness.
I call to mind those banded vales Of shadow and of shining,Through which, my hostess at my side, I drove in day’s declining.
We held our sideling way above The river’s whitening shallows,By homesteads old, with wide-flung barns Swept through and through by swallows,—
By maple orchards, belts of pine And larches climbing darklyThe mountain slopes, and, over all, The great peaks rising starkly.
You should have seen that long hill-range With gaps of brightness riven,—How through each pass and hollow streamed The purpling lights of heaven,—
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