Come! Let’s Go!

Poem by J. Swinburne

The sky is blue, the snow lies deep,
The air is cold and still,
From snow-capped crags the white slopes sweep
In dimples down the hill:
Then ho! for the ski that runs so fleet,
The ski sticks twain, the fast’ning neat,
Then ho! for twinkling of the feet,
As they scud through the drift, so smooth, so swift-
The gods be thanks for such a gift-
The ski!

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Though the snow be soft and you sink to your knees,
And you feel your limbs ready to drop,
And your ski is trip up in the roots of the trees,
And you murmur, “How far to the top?”
Though you stagger and flounder and slither and lunge,
And into snowdrift head foremost you plunge
Till you look like a snowman and drip like a sponge;
Yet the climb is soon done, soon you’ll lunch in the sun,
And smile at the thought of the downhill run-
On your ski.

TT_Winter2010 Secret stash 2

 

 

 

 

Then with easy grace and well-balanced pose
A-down the slopes you skim,
While the frost lays siege to the tip of your nose
And your eyes begin to brim;
Yet faster you fly, and faster still,
Merrily, Merrily down the hill;
And what’s the odds if you do yet a spill-
With a swoop and a swerve and a swing and a curve
You’ll very soon learn, if you’ve got the nerve-
To ski
This article originally appeared in the February 1921 Issue (29) of Trail & Timberline

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