这首诗的作者是这样写的:“正如黑暗之灵在黑暗中变得更强大，善良的灵魂，即光明的天使，不仅被神圣的太阳之光所增强，而且被我们共同的柴火所增强;正如天火赶走了黑暗的灵魂，我们的柴火也同样如此。”——科奥·阿格里帕，《神秘哲学》，第一册v。“天空所有的号角都在宣布，雪来了，驶过田野，似乎无处降落:白色的空气掩盖了山峦和树林，河流和天堂，掩盖了花园尽头的农舍。”雪橇和旅行者停了下来，信使的脚步被耽搁了，所有的朋友都被关在门外，室友们围坐在明亮的壁炉周围，被封闭在风暴的喧嚣中。”《暴风雪》爱默生十二月里那短暂的一天，太阳无精打采地从灰色的山丘上升起，在正午时分，它被黑圈着，比残缺的月亮更凄凉。它无声而不祥的预言，一个似乎比威胁还小的预兆，在它落下之前就从视线中消失了。一种寒意，无论多么结实的土布外衣，也挡不住，一种坚硬而沉闷的寒意，在那削尖了的脸上，止住了生命的血液在血液中盘旋的悸动，预示着暴风雪的来临。风向东吹; we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air. Meanwhile we did our nightly chores, -- Brought in the wood from out of doors, Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows; Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clashing horn on horn, Impatient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, The cock his crested helmet bent And down his querulous challenge sent. Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made hoary with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag, wavering to and fro, Crossed and recrossed the wingëd snow: And ere the early bedtime came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the glass the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, -- A universe of sky and snow! The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden-wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant spendor, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle. A prompt, decisive man, no breath Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!" Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy Count such a summons less than joy?) Our buskins on our feet we drew; With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, To guard our necks and ears from snow, We cut the solid whiteness through. And, where the drift was deepest, made A tunnel walled and overlaid With dazzling crystal: we had read Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave, And to our own his name we gave, With many a wish the luck were ours To test his lamp's supernal powers. We reached the barn with merry din, And roused the prisoned brutes within. The old horse thrust his long head out, And grave with wonder gazed about; The cock his lusty greeting said, And forth his speckled harem led; The oxen lashed their tails, and hooked, And mild reproach of hunger looked; The hornëd patriarch of the sheep, Like Egypt's Amun roused from sleep, Shook his sage head with gesture mute, And emphasized with stamp of foot. All day the gusty north-wind bore The loosening drift its breath before; Low circling round its southern zone, The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone. No church-bell lent its Christian tone To the savage air, no social smoke Curled over woods of snow-hung oak. A solitude made more int