The glittering roofs are still with frost; each worn br Black chimney builds into the quiet sky br Its curling pile to crumble silently. br Far out to westward on the edge of morn, br The slender misty city towers up-borne br Glimmer faint rose against the pallid blue; br And yonder on those northern hills, the hue br Of amethyst, hang fleeces dull as horn. br And here behind me come the woodmen's sleighs br With shouts and clamorous squeakings; might and main br Up the steep slope the horses stamp and strain, br Urged on by hoarse-tongued drivers—cheeks ablaze, br Iced beards and frozen eyelids—team by team, br With frost-fringed flanks, and nostrils jetting steam.