 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
165
WINTER.
The mill-wheel's frozen in the stream,
The church is deck'd with holly,
Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam,
To fright away melancholy;
Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail,
Younkers skate on the pool below,
Blackbirds perch on the garden rail,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
The church is deck'd with holly,
Misletoe hangs from the kitchen beam,
To fright away melancholy;
Icicles clink in the milkmaid's pail,
Younkers skate on the pool below,
Blackbirds perch on the garden rail,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
There goes the squire to shoot at snipe,
Here runs Dick to fetch a log;
You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe,
In the frosty morning fog.—
Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine,
Old and young cough as they go,
The round red sun forgets to shine,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
Here runs Dick to fetch a log;
You'd swear his breath was the smoke of a pipe,
In the frosty morning fog.—
Hodge is breaking the ice for the kine,
Old and young cough as they go,
The round red sun forgets to shine,
And hark, how the cold winds blow!
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |