|One of the grands I didn't get to see this season!|
from The Prelude
...All shod with steel,
We hissed along the polished ice in games. . . .
So through the darkness and the cold we flew,
And not a voice was idle; with the din,
Meanwhile, the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tinkled like iron, . . .
While the star
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the west
The orange sky of evening died away.