Sounds of the winter too,
Sunshine upon the mountains—many a distant strain
From cheery railroad train—from nearer field, barn, house
The whispering air—even the mute crops, garner’d apples, corn,
Children’s and women’s tones—rhythm of many a farmer and of
flail,
And old man’s garrulous lips among the rest, Think not we give
out yet,
Forth from these snowy hairs we keep up yet the lilt.
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Another early reminder that Bill Ellis will be leading a discussion on Walt Whitman at the Roundhouse on January 28. Please bring your own favourite Whitman poems or excerpts for reading and discussion and please also post them on the CONTACT US page or email them to me directly.
I will prime the pump with my own pick: A Noiseless Patient Spider.
roundhousepoetrycircle 