 | Poems of the war |  |
194
WINTER WINDS.
O winter winds, your mournful roar
Is burden of the song I sing;
An everlasting dirge ye pour,
A restless pain that beats the door
Of heaven with its wounded wing.
Is burden of the song I sing;
An everlasting dirge ye pour,
A restless pain that beats the door
Of heaven with its wounded wing.
Grief has no faith; the common woe
That sees a future hope unfold,
Draws comfort thence; but as ye blow,
O winter winds, a grief I know
That cannot, would not be consoled.
That sees a future hope unfold,
Draws comfort thence; but as ye blow,
O winter winds, a grief I know
That cannot, would not be consoled.
Ye wail o'er earth left desolate,
O'er beauty stricken with decay;
Ye howl behind the path of fate,
Deaf to the voice that bids you wait,
Ye cry for what has passed away.
O'er beauty stricken with decay;
195
Deaf to the voice that bids you wait,
Ye cry for what has passed away.
And I who stand with drooping eyes,
What heart have I to rise and greet
The beckoning hopes, that dimly rise,
While all I loved and trusted lies
In ashes at my faltering feet?
What heart have I to rise and greet
The beckoning hopes, that dimly rise,
While all I loved and trusted lies
In ashes at my faltering feet?
O winter winds, add moan to moan!
For though ye give me no relief,
Ye sound a fitting undertone,
A dreary note whose heavy drone
Keeps measure with my shriller grief.
For though ye give me no relief,
Ye sound a fitting undertone,
A dreary note whose heavy drone
Keeps measure with my shriller grief.
| Poems of the war | |