Of splendor, searing eyesight. Go abroad!
The branches yield crisp cracklings, now and then
Sending a shower of rattling diamonds down
On the mailed earth, as freshens the light wind.
The hemlock is a stooping bower of ice,
And the oak seems as though a fairy’s wand
Had, the past night, transformed its skeleton frame
To a rich structure, trembling o’er with tints
Of rainbow beauty. . . . . . . A. B. Street.