Loreena McKennitt Follow

White are the far-off plains, and whiteThe fading forests grow;The wind dies out along the heightAnd denser still the snow,A gathering weight on roof and treeFalls down scarce audibly.The road before me smooths and fillsApace, and all aboutThe fences dwindle, and the hillsAre blotted slowly out;The naked trees loom spectrallyInto the dim white sky.The meadows and far-sheeted streamsLie still without a sound;Like some soft minister of dreamsThe snow-fall hoods me round;In wood and water, earth and air,A silence everywhere.Save when at lonely intervalsSome farmer's sleigh, urged on,With rustling runner and sharp bells,Swings by me and is gone;Or from the empty waste I hearA sound remote and clear;The barking of a dog, or callTo cattle, sharply pealed,Borne, echoing from some wayside stallOr barnyard far afield;Then all is silent and the snow fallsSettling soft and slowThe evening deepens and the greyFolds closer earth and skyThe world seems shrouded, far away.Its noises sleep, and I as secret asYon buried stream plod dumbly on and dream