Zero
The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, stiff with frost, Croaks open; and harsh wagon-wheels are heard Creaking through cold; the horses' breath is furred Around their nostrils; and with snow deep mossed The hut is barely seen, from which, uptossed, The wood-smoke pillars the icy air unstirred; And every sound, each axe-stroke and each word, Comes as through crystal, then again is lost. The sun strikes bitter on the frozen pane, And all around there is a tingling, tense As is a wire stretched upon a disc Vibrating without sound: It is the strain That Winter plays, to which each tree and fence, It seems, is strung, as 't were of ringing bisque.
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"The gate, on ice-hoarse hinges, stiff with frost,..."
This evocative piece by Madison Julius Cawein, titled "Zero", represents a masterful exploration of classic. The lines capture a profound emotional resonance... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...