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A SONG OF THE SNOW |
|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
385
A SONG OF THE SNOW
I
Roaring winds that rocked the crow,
High in his eyrie,
All night long, and to and fro
Swung the cedar and drove the snow
Out of the North, have ceased to blow,
And dawn breaks fiery.
High in his eyrie,
All night long, and to and fro
Swung the cedar and drove the snow
Out of the North, have ceased to blow,
And dawn breaks fiery.
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn,
When the air is still and the clouds are gone,
And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,
And the old clock ticks, “'Tis time! 'tis time!”
And the household rises with many a yawn—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!
Sing, Ho!
When the air is still and the clouds are gone,
And the snow lies deep on hill and lawn,
And the old clock ticks, “'Tis time! 'tis time!”
And the household rises with many a yawn—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter dawn!
Sing, Ho!
II
Deep in the East a rosy glow
Broadens and brightens,
Glints through the icicles, row on row,
Flames on the panes of the farm-house low,
And over the miles of drifted snow
Silently whitens.
Broadens and brightens,
Glints through the icicles, row on row,
386
And over the miles of drifted snow
Silently whitens.
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky,
When the last star closes its icy eye,
And deep in the road the snow drifts lie,
And the old clock ticks, “'Tis late! 'tis late!”
And the flame on the hearth leaps red, leaps high—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!
Sing, Ho!
When the last star closes its icy eye,
And deep in the road the snow drifts lie,
And the old clock ticks, “'Tis late! 'tis late!”
And the flame on the hearth leaps red, leaps high—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky!
Sing, Ho!
III
Into the heav'n the sun comes slow,
All red and frowsy:
Out of the shed the muffled low
Of the cattle comes; the rooster's crow
Sounds strangely distant beneath the snow
And dull and drowsy.
All red and frowsy:
Out of the shed the muffled low
Of the cattle comes; the rooster's crow
Sounds strangely distant beneath the snow
And dull and drowsy.
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn,
When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,
And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,
And the old clock ticks, “Tick-tock, tick-tock;”
And the goodman bustles about the barn—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!
Sing, Ho!
When the snow makes ghostly the wayside thorn,
And hills of pearl are the shocks of corn,
And the old clock ticks, “Tick-tock, tick-tock;”
387
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter morn!
Sing, Ho!
IV
Now to their tasks the farm-hands go,
Cheerily, cheerily:
With ears a-tingle and cheeks a-glow,
She with her pail and he with his hoe,
To milk the cows and to path the snow,
Merrily, merrily.
Cheerily, cheerily:
With ears a-tingle and cheeks a-glow,
She with her pail and he with his hoe,
To milk the cows and to path the snow,
Merrily, merrily.
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day,
When ermine-capped are the stacks of hay,
And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,
And the old clock ticks, “To work! to work!”
And the goodwife sings as she churns away—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!
Sing, Ho!
When ermine-capped are the stacks of hay,
And the wood-smoke pillars the air with gray,
And the old clock ticks, “To work! to work!”
And the goodwife sings as she churns away—
Sing, Ho, a song of the winter day!
Sing, Ho!
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |