 | The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien |  |
89
WINTER.
Cold wind, white snow,
Sweeps fast, falls slow,
And chills the landscape's autumn glow;
The ice-bolts freeze
The naked trees,
And seal the old year's obsequies.
Sweeps fast, falls slow,
And chills the landscape's autumn glow;
The ice-bolts freeze
The naked trees,
And seal the old year's obsequies.
A leaden sky
Droops heavily,
As dull and glazed as dead man's eye;
The sweeping clouds,
In cold, cold crowds,
Enfold the day with ghostly shrouds.
Droops heavily,
As dull and glazed as dead man's eye;
The sweeping clouds,
In cold, cold crowds,
Enfold the day with ghostly shrouds.
The woods lie bare,
And here and there
The gray moss hangs its mournful hair;
The leaves sun-burned,
By fierce winds spurned,
Lie mouldering 'mid the soil inurned.
And here and there
The gray moss hangs its mournful hair;
The leaves sun-burned,
By fierce winds spurned,
Lie mouldering 'mid the soil inurned.
The leafless lines
Of trailing vines
Stretch, harp-like, through the sounding pines;
From their festoons
Float wailing croons,
As weird and grim as northern runes.
Of trailing vines
Stretch, harp-like, through the sounding pines;
From their festoons
Float wailing croons,
As weird and grim as northern runes.
90
The day is cold,
The earth is old,
And mourns her summer's squandered gold;
The birds are dumb,
The springs are numb,
For winter in his might has come.
The earth is old,
And mourns her summer's squandered gold;
The birds are dumb,
The springs are numb,
For winter in his might has come.
| The poems and stories of Fitz-James O'Brien | |