A Winter Dawn

Above the marge of night a star still shines,
And on the frosty hills the sombre pines
Harbor an eerie wind that crooneth low
Over the glimmering wastes of virgin snow.

Through the pale arch of orient the morn
Comes in a milk-white splendor newly-born,
A sword of crimson cuts in twain the gray
Banners of shadow hosts, and lo, the day!

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Other poems of MONTGOMERY (96)

Comments (2)

I guess he was stil feeling the affects of the wine when he wrote this piece. I can't imagine him doing it with other than a smile on his face. This writer is comfortable with his work and that makes the reader comfortable too. GW62
Iam building a picture here having read your first three lost of feeling in these words disguised as normality. This is sign posting were you don't actually say whats going on but make it in metaphors. Séamus