The glittering roofs are still with frost; each worn
Black chimney builds into the quiet sky
Its curling pile to crumble silently.
Far out to westward on the edge of morn,
The slender misty city towers up-borne
Glimmer faint rose against the pallid blue;
And yonder on those northern hills, the hue
Of amethyst, hang fleeces dull as horn.
And here behind me come the woodmen's sleighs
With shouts and clamorous squeakings; might and main
Up the steep slope the horses stamp and strain,
Urged on by hoarse-tongued drivers-cheeks ablaze,
Iced beards and frozen eyelids-team by team,
With frost-fringed flanks, and nostrils jetting steam.
A January Morning
Archibald Lampman
(2)
Poem topics: city, rose, sky, blue, edge, frozen, black, quiet, main, steep, frost, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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