Along te coast, The pines face out across the country Toward the shifting seas, Their green tips silvered By the touch of frost; The day is splendor, clean and sharp Beneath a sky of crystal tone As clear and true as old glass belled. The hills are silent, Long smooth curves beneath their weight of snow. Scarred with the track of wild things Passing. There is a crisp ruffle on the wind As gray geese trail down from the sky, Their wing tips drawing Soft blue shadows Across the frozen surface of the lake. The air is pungent with the sting of frost, And everywhere is crystal hard And still with peace.