THE WOLF.
Whoo—whoo—The rain in the hollowThe wan gray sleet will follow,The shaggy moorWill lie at the door,Heavy with mould,Dead with cold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The wind in the willow,The snow heaped up for a pillow,The shell of ice,Will crush in a trice,An iron mould,To have and to hold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The frost in the furrow,Heat takes long to burrow,The fire on the hearthShakes its mirthAt one of God’s poor,Outside the door,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—Weary and worry him,Gnaw him, tug him, and carry him;Dig him a pit,Shallow and fit,In the colder coldIt will hold or unfold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The steam from the thatches,The casement tawny in patches;Look not yet,You might never forgetThe ghost of breath,Or the leper Death,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—The rain in the hollowThe wan gray sleet will follow,The shaggy moorWill lie at the door,Heavy with mould,Dead with cold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The wind in the willow,The snow heaped up for a pillow,The shell of ice,Will crush in a trice,An iron mould,To have and to hold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The frost in the furrow,Heat takes long to burrow,The fire on the hearthShakes its mirthAt one of God’s poor,Outside the door,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—Weary and worry him,Gnaw him, tug him, and carry him;Dig him a pit,Shallow and fit,In the colder coldIt will hold or unfold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.Whoo—whoo—The steam from the thatches,The casement tawny in patches;Look not yet,You might never forgetThe ghost of breath,Or the leper Death,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—The rain in the hollowThe wan gray sleet will follow,The shaggy moorWill lie at the door,Heavy with mould,Dead with cold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—
The rain in the hollow
The wan gray sleet will follow,
The shaggy moor
Will lie at the door,
Heavy with mould,
Dead with cold,
Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—The wind in the willow,The snow heaped up for a pillow,The shell of ice,Will crush in a trice,An iron mould,To have and to hold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—
The wind in the willow,
The snow heaped up for a pillow,
The shell of ice,
Will crush in a trice,
An iron mould,
To have and to hold,
Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—The frost in the furrow,Heat takes long to burrow,The fire on the hearthShakes its mirthAt one of God’s poor,Outside the door,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—
The frost in the furrow,
Heat takes long to burrow,
The fire on the hearth
Shakes its mirth
At one of God’s poor,
Outside the door,
Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—Weary and worry him,Gnaw him, tug him, and carry him;Dig him a pit,Shallow and fit,In the colder coldIt will hold or unfold,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—
Weary and worry him,
Gnaw him, tug him, and carry him;
Dig him a pit,
Shallow and fit,
In the colder cold
It will hold or unfold,
Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—The steam from the thatches,The casement tawny in patches;Look not yet,You might never forgetThe ghost of breath,Or the leper Death,Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.
Whoo—whoo—
The steam from the thatches,
The casement tawny in patches;
Look not yet,
You might never forget
The ghost of breath,
Or the leper Death,
Whoo—whoo;—yu-loô—yu-loô.