Winter
Winter
Oh, why are the leaves all scattered and dead?And why are the blossoms all blasted and fled?Why—why are the rivers, once sportive and free,Now silent and sad—and in slavery!Oh winter! stern monarch—thy sway is begun—And thou lovest to undo what the summer hath done.The fairest, most cherished of blossoms and flowers,The queen of the meadows—the princess of bowersThe lily and rose—these waken thy spite—And they fly from thy presence, in terror and blight!The leaves of the forest turn pale in thy blast—From thy hail and thy frost the birds shrink aghast—And the bright robe of green that was woven by May,Is torn from the landscape, for mantles of gray.Oh winter! stern tyrant—if such be thy reign,O’er the mountain and meadow—o’er hillock and plain—If all that is lovely—’tis thine to o’erthrow—Let us keep from ourhearts, thy frost and thy snow.
Oh, why are the leaves all scattered and dead?And why are the blossoms all blasted and fled?Why—why are the rivers, once sportive and free,Now silent and sad—and in slavery!Oh winter! stern monarch—thy sway is begun—And thou lovest to undo what the summer hath done.The fairest, most cherished of blossoms and flowers,The queen of the meadows—the princess of bowersThe lily and rose—these waken thy spite—And they fly from thy presence, in terror and blight!The leaves of the forest turn pale in thy blast—From thy hail and thy frost the birds shrink aghast—And the bright robe of green that was woven by May,Is torn from the landscape, for mantles of gray.Oh winter! stern tyrant—if such be thy reign,O’er the mountain and meadow—o’er hillock and plain—If all that is lovely—’tis thine to o’erthrow—Let us keep from ourhearts, thy frost and thy snow.
Oh, why are the leaves all scattered and dead?
And why are the blossoms all blasted and fled?
Why—why are the rivers, once sportive and free,
Now silent and sad—and in slavery!
Oh winter! stern monarch—thy sway is begun—
And thou lovest to undo what the summer hath done.
The fairest, most cherished of blossoms and flowers,
The queen of the meadows—the princess of bowers
The lily and rose—these waken thy spite—
And they fly from thy presence, in terror and blight!
The leaves of the forest turn pale in thy blast—
From thy hail and thy frost the birds shrink aghast—
And the bright robe of green that was woven by May,
Is torn from the landscape, for mantles of gray.
Oh winter! stern tyrant—if such be thy reign,O’er the mountain and meadow—o’er hillock and plain—If all that is lovely—’tis thine to o’erthrow—Let us keep from ourhearts, thy frost and thy snow.
Oh winter! stern tyrant—if such be thy reign,
O’er the mountain and meadow—o’er hillock and plain—
If all that is lovely—’tis thine to o’erthrow—
Let us keep from ourhearts, thy frost and thy snow.