University of Virginia Library

I

[Through the long winter the rough wind tears]

Through the long winter the rough wind tears;
With their white garment the hills look wan.
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on.
My mother is dead; God's patience wears;
It seems my chaplain will not have done.
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on.
The Devil, hobbling up the stairs,
Comes for me with his ugly throng.
Love on: who cares?
Who cares? Love on.