Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
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| XI. |
XI.WINTER COMING.
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108
XI.WINTER COMING.
The strong wind blows from o'er the sea,
Foam-freckled far and near;
Within the casement closed we say,
Winter at last is here.
Foam-freckled far and near;
Within the casement closed we say,
Winter at last is here.
The long boughs of the old trees creak,
And strike against the rain;
The dead leaves and the little birds
Are thrown on the window pane.
And strike against the rain;
The dead leaves and the little birds
Are thrown on the window pane.
From room to room the careful dame
Each bolt and latch doth try;
The storm-sprite on the winding stair
Sings to her mournfully.
Each bolt and latch doth try;
The storm-sprite on the winding stair
Sings to her mournfully.
The sound of fast-running waters fills
The air both night and day,
And mists like ghosts from all the glens
Rise and are driven away.
The air both night and day,
And mists like ghosts from all the glens
Rise and are driven away.
109
Sad is the rushing of railing rain,
And swollen streams wailing low;
And the fitful wind, like a slave pursued
By the fast gathering snow.
And swollen streams wailing low;
And the fitful wind, like a slave pursued
By the fast gathering snow.
From the flower-beds the rank heaps fall
Across the bordered walk;
The sunflower props like beggars slant
In rags of leaves and stalk.
Across the bordered walk;
The sunflower props like beggars slant
In rags of leaves and stalk.
The farmer drives his horses home,
The cows are in the byre;
The frost is come, and the ploughman sits
Idle beside the fire.
The cows are in the byre;
The frost is come, and the ploughman sits
Idle beside the fire.
Away to the South like the swallows
We turn our eyes again,
To be lost once more in the labyrinths
And multitudes of men.
We turn our eyes again,
To be lost once more in the labyrinths
And multitudes of men.
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