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Updated: October 21, 2026
"From icy spears a drop will run Not fall: at afternoon, It shines a diamond for the sun, An opal for the moon. "And when the bright sad sun is low Behind the mountain-dome, A twilight wind will come, and blow All round the children's home; "And waft about the powdery snow, As night's dim footsteps pass; But waiting, in its grave below, Green lies the summer-grass."
It opens roguishly one little loop-hole, through which cloud above, cloud below, cloud on this side and on that you see a sweet, violet-hued mountain-dome, lying against a background of brilliant blue sky, just for one heart-beat, and it closes again, gray, sheeted, monotonous. Leaving the valley, and driving along the Jefferson road, you have the mountains under an entirely new aspect.