The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves ... Second Edition |
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THE SECOND WINTER SONG |
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 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE SECOND WINTER SONG
Cold, cold until Doom!
The storm goes gathering gloom;
Each flashing furrow a stream;
A full lake every ford in the coom.
The storm goes gathering gloom;
Each flashing furrow a stream;
A full lake every ford in the coom.
Sea large are the scowling lakes,
Thin sleet-spears swell to an host,
Light rains clash as shields on the coast;
Like a white wether's fleece fall the flakes.
Thin sleet-spears swell to an host,
Light rains clash as shields on the coast;
Like a white wether's fleece fall the flakes.
The roadside pools are as ponds,
Each moor like a forest uplifts,
No shelter the bird-flock finds,
Breech high the stark snow drifts.
Each moor like a forest uplifts,
No shelter the bird-flock finds,
Breech high the stark snow drifts.
Swift frost has the ways in his hold,
Keen the strife around Colt's standing stone,
And the tempest so stretches her fold
That none can cry aught but “cold”!
Keen the strife around Colt's standing stone,
And the tempest so stretches her fold
That none can cry aught but “cold”!
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |