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The Courage Of Marge O'Doone (fiscle part-I)

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User: disha
The Courage Of Marge O'Doone (fiscle part-I)
If You Had Stood There In the Edge Of The Bleak Spruce Forest, With The
Wind Moaning dismally Through The Twisting trees--Midnight Of Deep
December--The Transcontinental Would Have Looked like A Thing of Fire;
Dull Fire, Glowing with A Smouldering warmth, But Of Strange Ghostliness
And Out Of Place. It Was A Weird Shadow, Helpless And Without Motion,
And Black As The Half-Arctic Night Save For The Band Of Illumination
That Cut It In twain From The First Coach To The Last, With A Space Like
An Inky Hyphen Where The Baggage Car Lay. Out Of The North Came Armies
Of Snow-Laden Clouds That Scudded just Above The Earth, And With These
Clouds Came Now And Then A Shrieking mockery Of Wind To Taunt This
Stricken Creation Of Man And The Creatures It Sheltered--Men And Women
Who Had Begun To Shiver, And Whose Tense White Faces Stared with
Increasing anxiety Into The Mysterious Darkness Of The Night That Hung
Like A Sable Curtain Ten Feet From The Car Windows.

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