White are the far-off plains, and white The fading forests grow; The wind dies out along the height And denser still the snow, A gathering weight on roof and tree Falls down scarce audibly. The road before me smooths and fills Apace, and all about The fences dwindle, and the hills Are blotted slowly out; The naked trees loom spectrally Into the dim white sky. The meadows and far-sheeted streams
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