• The mountains are asleep in snow.
    Along this winding road I go
    As night approaches, silent, slow,
    And white the fading forests grow.

    The stream lies still beneath the pines,
    Their downcast boughs in snowfall's bind;
    Whose woods these are, I do not know
    For I am far from all mankind.

    White is the road, and white the grass--
    They blur into a single mass
    As quicker, thicker falls the snow.
    The moon is high. The night falls fast.

    My frigid fingers form a lair
    In-coat, but find no comfort there.
    I draw a frosty breath, and blow
    My bitter thoughts to biting air.

    The moon retreats. The world well known
    Has vanished-- I am all alone.
    Across the way, a carrion crow
    Is picking at a frozen bone.

    My body's numb from head to toe
    And, stumbling, I onward go.
    The wolf cries out in winter woe
    The joyless silence to forgo.

    Beleaguered by a darkness deep,
    I feel a melancholy steep;
    For I have miles and miles to go
    But here is where I'll find my Sleep.