Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Last of the Weirsmen: A Tragedy
Boughs all icicle-dressed, a world Of crystal and beauty, Sprinkled and softened to white by the snow, the still-fallen snow. Faery and fair were the woods, but amid the winter-night splendor Lingered the while a shadowed spot, the close-hung branches below; Shadowed, but shadowed with ice, half dark, half tinged with the whiteness, Deep 'mid arches and aisles, and mazes, foil ing the sight. Stand not without, my song, but enter and wait 'mid the shadows; Wait, and mark as the outlines grow and clothe in the rising light.
Silently rises the smoke and wavers over the dwelling, All unswayed by the breeze in the arms of stillness asleep Warmly towers and curls, self-driven, up through the night-frost. Cheerly and bright is the blaze within, whose sparks through the wind-eye leap.
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