Poem for the day

from Frost at Midnight

The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet`s cry
Came loud - and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abtruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
`Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless ings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 - 1834)

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