The bells will jingle in the wind...

The bells will jingle in the wind, wavering like dresses,
And the fresh fall snow. The walls glow in the crisp, deer graze
For fodder by the painted lake. Winter is my mistress
Made anew, from the carriage where we lay in the peak
Of storms to the smoke-stacks perching on a patch
Of lucent sky. All here is vivid and dry
As fresh paint—blond as your hair and white
Like young skin.