IV.

Green hills of Rutland County, under snow
You lie and lately freeze; your farms of frost
And lonely roads all speak of someplace lost---
Green hills, white hills, O how I long to go!
A late sun slants across your back, a bow
Of gold resplendent; ground-ward, light be tossed
And scattered o'er the freezing hills, and crossed
Beneath the trembled bowers hanging low.

When summer dusts the forests green and brown,
I will remember then when you were white,
Night-glinted by the moon, and shuttered down;
Or when, over the snow, a waning light
Would linger yet, and on me place its crown
Of ice and gold, so beautiful and bright!