<h2 id="c15">MIDWINTER.</h2>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">The air is like a beryl, clean and clear,</p>
<p class="t">Intensified by gleaming points of blue.</p>
<p class="t0">Sharp-outlined, distant sounds come ringing near</p>
<p class="t">And crisply pierce the brittle silence through.</p>
</div>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">The sturdy trees that yester-eve were gray</p>
<p class="t">In dim and foggy veils, and half effaced</p>
<p class="t0">By winter rain that compassed them, to-day</p>
<p class="t">Arise like knights in crystal armor laced.</p>
</div>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">The stiff, brown-fibered weeds beside the walk</p>
<p class="t">Have pinned, with each dull spike, a shivered star.</p>
<p class="t0">An icy chime is rung from every stalk</p>
<p class="t">To wandering step that clashes them ajar.</p>
</div>
<div class="verse">
<p class="t0">The wood is bright as when the summer lost</p>
<p class="t">Her sun-gems in the deep, soft shadow-seas—</p>
<p class="t0">Only the light is dagger-edged with frost,</p>
<p class="t">And breaks in spangles on the ice-mailed trees.</p>
<p class="lr">—Hattie Whitney in The Ladies’ World.</p>
</div>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</div>
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