Thursday, December 12, 2013


The sun that brief December day
 Rose cheerless over hills of gray, 
And, darkly circled, gave at noon 
A sadder light than waning moon.
 Slow tracing down the thickening sky 
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
 A portent seeming less than threat, 
It sank from sight before it set.
Snow-bound By John Greenleaf Whittier

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