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A January Morning

Rating: 3.1

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,
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kristen Wear 12 June 2006

I reall y really like this poem he really desprcives everything very well i see it so clearly

4 12 Reply

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