Verse > John Greenleaf Whittier > The Poetical Works in Four Volumes
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John Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892).  The Poetical Works in Four Volumes.  1892.
 
Poems of Nature
The Pageant
 
A SOUND as if from bells of silver,
    Or elfin cymbals smitten clear,
    Through the frost-pictured panes I hear.
 
A brightness which outshines the morning,
    A splendor brooking no delay,        5
    Beckons and tempts my feet away.
 
I leave the trodden village highway
    For virgin snow-paths glimmering through
    A jewelled elm-tree avenue;
 
Where, keen against the walls of sapphire,        10
    The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed,
    Hold up their chandeliers of frost.
 
I tread in Orient halls enchanted,
    I dream the Saga’s dream of caves
    Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves!        15
 
I walk the land of Eldorado,
    I touch its mimic garden bowers,
    Its silver leaves and diamond flowers!
 
The flora of the mystic mine-world
    Around me lifts on crystal stems        20
    The petals of its clustered gems!
 
What miracle of weird transforming
    In this wild work of frost and light,
    This glimpse of glory infinite!
 
This foregleam of the Holy City        25
    Like that to him of Patmos given,
    The white bride coming down from heaven!
 
How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders,
    Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds
    The brook its muffled water leads!        30
 
Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb,
    Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire
    Rays out from every grassy spire.
 
Each slender rush and spike of mullein,
    Low laurel shrub and drooping fern,        35
    Transfigured, blaze where’er I turn.
 
How yonder Ethiopian hemlock
    Crowned with his glistening circlet stands!
    What jewels light his swarthy hands!
 
Here, where the forest opens southward,        40
    Between its hospitable pines,
    As through a door, the warm sun shines.
 
The jewels loosen on the branches,
    And lightly, as the soft winds blow,
    Fall, tinkling, on the ice below.        45
 
And through the clashing of their cymbals
    I hear the old familiar fall
    Of water down the rocky wall,
 
Where, from its wintry prison breaking,
    In dark and silence hidden long,        50
    The brook repeats its summer song.
 
One instant flashing in the sunshine,
    Keen as a sabre from its sheath,
    Then lost again the ice beneath.
 
I hear the rabbit lightly leaping,        55
    The foolish screaming of the jay,
    The chopper’s axe-stroke far away;
 
The clamor of some neighboring barn-yard,
    The lazy cock’s belated crow,
    Or cattle-tramp in crispy snow.        60
 
And, as in some enchanted forest
    The lost knight hears his comrades sing,
    And, near at hand, their bridles ring,—
 
So welcome I these sounds and voices,
    These airs from far-off summer blown,        65
    This life that leaves me not alone.
 
For the white glory overawes me;
    The crystal terror of the seer
    Of Chebar’s vision blinds me here.
 
Rebuke me not, O sapphire heaven!        70
    Thou stainless earth, lay not on me,
    Thy keen reproach of purity,
 
If, in this august presence-chamber,
    I sigh for summer’s leaf-green gloom
    And warm airs thick with odorous bloom!        75
 
Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble,
    And let the loosened tree-boughs swing,
    Till all their bells of silver ring.
 
Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime,
    On this chill pageant, melt and move        80
    The winter’s frozen heart with love.
 
And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing,
    Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze
    Thy prophecy of summer days.
 
Come with thy green relief of promise,        85
    And to this dead, cold splendor bring
    The living jewels of the spring!

  1869.
 
 
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