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a winter walk-外文诗词

2015-01-21 17:00来源: 点滴生活文学 作者:admin浏览:
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A Winter Walk

the wind has gently murmured through the 1)blinds, or 2)puffed with feathery softness against the windows, and occasionally 3)sighed like a summer 4)zephyr lifting the leaves along, the livelong night. The meadow mouse has slept in his 5)snug gallery in the sod, the owl has sat in a hollow tree in the depth of the swamp, the rabbit, the squirrel, and the fox have all been housed. The watch-dog has lain quiet on the hearth, and the cattle have stood silent in their stalls. The earth itself has slept, as it were its first, not its last sleep, 6)save when some street-sign or wood-house door has faintly creaked upon its hinge, cheering 7)forlorn nature at her midnight work, —the only sound awake 8)twixt Venus and Mars, —9)advertising us of a remote inward warmth, a divine cheer and fellowship, where gods are met together, but where it is very bleak for men to stand. But while the earth has 10)slumbered, all the air has been alive with feathery flakes descending, as if some northern 11)Ceres 12)reigned, showering her silvery grain over all the fields.

We sleep, and 13)at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within. The stillness of the morning is impressive. The floor creaks under our feet as we move toward the window to look abroad through some clear space over the fields. We see the roofs stand under their snow burden. From the eaves and fences hang 14)stalactites of snow, and in the yard stand 15)stalagmites covering some 16)concealed core. The trees and shrubs 17)rear white arms to the sky on every side; and where were walls and fences, we see fantastic forms stretching in 18)frolic 19)gambols across the dusky landscape, as if Nature had 20)strewn her fresh designs over the fields by night as models for man’s art.

Silently we unlatch the door, letting the drift fall in, and step abroad to face the cutting air. Already the stars have lost some of their sparkle, and a dull, leaden mist 21)skirts the horizon. A 22)lurid brazen light in the east proclaims the approach of day, while the western landscape is dim and 23)spectral still, and clothed in a sombre 24)Tartarean light, like the shadowy realms. They are 25)infernal sounds only that you hear, —the crowing of cocks, the barking of dogs, the chopping of wood, the lowing of kine, all seem to come from Pluto’s barnyard and beyond the 26)Styx, —not for any 27)melancholy they suggest, but their twilight bustle is too solemn and mysterious for earth. The recent tracks of the fox or otter, in the yard, remind us that each hour of the night is crowded with events, and the 28)primeval nature is still working and making tracks in the snow. Opening the gate, we 29)tread briskly along the lone country road, crunching the dry and crisped snow under our feet, or aroused by the sharp, clear creak of the wood-shed, just starting for the distant market, from the early farmer’s door, where it has lain the summer long, dreaming amid the chips and stubble; while far through the drifts and powdered windows we see the farmer’s early candle, like a paled star, emitting a lonely beam, as if some severe virtue were at its 30)matins there. And one by one the smokes begin to ascend from the chimneys amid the trees and snows.

We hear the sound of wood-chopping at the farmers’ doors, far over the frozen earth, the baying of the house-dog, and the distant clarion of the cock, —though the thin and frosty air conveys only the finer particles of sound to our ears, with short and sweet vibrations, as the waves 31)subside soonest on the purest and lightest liquids, in which gross substances sink to the bottom. They come clear and bell-like, and from a GREater distance in the horizon, as if there were fewer 32)impediments than in summer to make them faint and 33)ragged. The ground is 34)sonorous, like 35)seasoned wood, and even the ordinary rural sounds are melodious, and the jingling of the ice on the trees is sweet and liquid. There is the least possible moisture in the atmosphere, all being dried up or 36)congealed, and it is of such extreme 37)tenuity and 38)elasticity that it becomes a source of delight. The withdrawn and tense sky seems 39)groined like the aisles of a cathedral, and the polished air sparkles as if there were crystals of ice floating in it. As they who have 40)resided in Greenland tell us that when it freezes “the sea smokes like burning turf-land, and a fog or mist arises, called frost-smoke,” which “cutting smoke frequently raises 41)blisters on the face and hands, and is very 42)pernicious to the health.” But this pure, stinging cold is an 43)elixir to the lungs, and not so much a frozen mist as a crystallized midsummer haze, refined and purified by cold.
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