Crosse, Andrew – Poems – Winter
Type of Spiritual Experience
A description of the experience
'Twas winter's depth, yet not the lightest breeze
Shook the keen icicle that gemmed the trees,
Which reared their stiffened heads in jewelled state;
Branches on branches, bowed with icy weight,
As drooped their lower limbs superbly bound
In radient fetters to the spangled ground.
Feathered with heaven's own plumage, tipt with gold,
Glowing with dyes unnumbered, hues untold,
Stolen from the God of Day, who quits the hills,
And from his throne refulgent light distils.
Each turf of thistle, in its gorgeous dress,
Scoffs at the labored pomps that kings opress;
From every centre emanating play
Its needled crystals in the blaze of day.'
The source of the experienceCrosse, Andrew
Concepts, symbols and science items
Activities and commonsteps
Squash the big I am