My glad feet shod with the glittering steel br I was the god of the wingèd heel. br br The hills in the far white sky were lost; br The world lay still in the wide white frost; br br And the woods hung hushed in their long white dream br By the ghostly, glimmering, ice-blue stream. br br Here was a pathway, smooth like glass, br Where I and the wandering wind might pass br br To the far-off palaces, drifted deep, br Where Winter's retinue rests in sleep. br br I followed the lure, I fled like a bird, br Till the startled hollows awoke and heard br br A spinning whisper, a sibilant twang, br As the stroke of the steel on the tense ice rang; br br And the wandering wind was left behind br As faster, faster I followed my mind; br br Till the blood sang high in my eager brain, br And the joy of my flight was almost pain. br br The I stayed the rush of my eager speed br And silently went as a drifting seed, -- br br Slowly, furtively, till my eyes br Grew big with the awe of a dim surmise, br br And the hair of my neck began to creep br At hearing the wilderness talk in sleep. br br Shapes in the fir-gloom drifted near. br In the deep of my heart I heard my fear. br br And I turned and fled, like a soul pursued, br From the white, inviolate solitude.