Winter-Wash

Winter hangs her wash,
Of white on every tree.
Beside the leafless twig and branch,
She stands with dignity.

She spreads an ermine shawl,
Upon the garden path.
Where tilted places in the snow,
Excites the wind to wrath.

And where the hoary fringe,
Of frost doth cling.
She makes an ornamental form,
On ice-encrusted things.

Where cold air sifts,
And wild-wind seals.
The broken bits along the ruts,
Beyond the crack of wheels.

For things are cast in whitened tufts,
The temperature is harsh.
Beauty lays a grand array,
When winter hangs her wash.


E.P. 1908 - 1989