(Written in Winter.)
By thee, fair City, is Mount Royal based,
Which, though its inward fires are extinct,
Seems—in the flush of morning, indistinct,
When misty shadows are across it chased,
Over its flaky bosom pure and white,
Which glows and glistens in the early light,—
Seems moved with passion. 'Neath it thou art traced,
In winter's jewelled brilliancy arrayed,
With sparkling spire and glassy dome displayed:
A gem-wrought girdle on a maiden's waist.