WINTER SONG.
Sing me a song of the dead world,Of the great frost deep and still,Of the sword of fire the wind hurledOn the iron hill.Sing me a song of the driving snow,Of the reeling cloud and the smoky drift,Where the sheeted wraiths like ghosts goThrough the gloomy rift.Sing me a song of the ringing blade,Of the snarl and shatter the light icemakes,Of the whoop and the swing of the snow-shoe raidThrough the cedar brakes.Sing me a song of the apple-loft,Of the corn and the nuts and the mounds of meal,Of the sweeping whir of the spindle soft,And the spinning-wheel.Sing me a song of the open page,Where the ruddy gleams of the firelight dance,Where bends my love Armitage,Reading an old romance.Sing me a song of the still nights,Of the large stars steady and high,The aurora darting its phosphor lightsIn the purple sky.
Sing me a song of the dead world,Of the great frost deep and still,Of the sword of fire the wind hurledOn the iron hill.Sing me a song of the driving snow,Of the reeling cloud and the smoky drift,Where the sheeted wraiths like ghosts goThrough the gloomy rift.Sing me a song of the ringing blade,Of the snarl and shatter the light icemakes,Of the whoop and the swing of the snow-shoe raidThrough the cedar brakes.Sing me a song of the apple-loft,Of the corn and the nuts and the mounds of meal,Of the sweeping whir of the spindle soft,And the spinning-wheel.Sing me a song of the open page,Where the ruddy gleams of the firelight dance,Where bends my love Armitage,Reading an old romance.Sing me a song of the still nights,Of the large stars steady and high,The aurora darting its phosphor lightsIn the purple sky.
Sing me a song of the dead world,Of the great frost deep and still,Of the sword of fire the wind hurledOn the iron hill.
Sing me a song of the dead world,
Of the great frost deep and still,
Of the sword of fire the wind hurled
On the iron hill.
Sing me a song of the driving snow,Of the reeling cloud and the smoky drift,Where the sheeted wraiths like ghosts goThrough the gloomy rift.
Sing me a song of the driving snow,
Of the reeling cloud and the smoky drift,
Where the sheeted wraiths like ghosts go
Through the gloomy rift.
Sing me a song of the ringing blade,Of the snarl and shatter the light icemakes,Of the whoop and the swing of the snow-shoe raidThrough the cedar brakes.
Sing me a song of the ringing blade,
Of the snarl and shatter the light icemakes,
Of the whoop and the swing of the snow-shoe raid
Through the cedar brakes.
Sing me a song of the apple-loft,Of the corn and the nuts and the mounds of meal,Of the sweeping whir of the spindle soft,And the spinning-wheel.
Sing me a song of the apple-loft,
Of the corn and the nuts and the mounds of meal,
Of the sweeping whir of the spindle soft,
And the spinning-wheel.
Sing me a song of the open page,Where the ruddy gleams of the firelight dance,Where bends my love Armitage,Reading an old romance.
Sing me a song of the open page,
Where the ruddy gleams of the firelight dance,
Where bends my love Armitage,
Reading an old romance.
Sing me a song of the still nights,Of the large stars steady and high,The aurora darting its phosphor lightsIn the purple sky.
Sing me a song of the still nights,
Of the large stars steady and high,
The aurora darting its phosphor lights
In the purple sky.