LXXX.—THE COMING OF WINTER.
T. B. READ.
1. Autumn’s sighing,
Moaning, dying,
Clouds are flying
On like steeds;
While their shadows
O’er the meadows,
Walk like widows
Decked in weeds.
2. Red leaves trailing,
Fall unfailing,
Dropping, sailing,
From the wood,
That, unpliant,
Stands defiant,
Like a giant,
Dropping blood.
3. Winds are swelling
Round our dwelling,
All day telling
Us their woe;
And, at vesper,
Frosts grow crisper,
As they whisper
Of the snow.
4. From the unseen land,
Frozen inland,
Down from Greenland,
Winter glides.
Shedding lightness
Like the brightness
When moon-whiteness
Fills the tide.
5. Now bright Pleasure’s
Sparkling measures
With rare treasures
Overflow!
With this gladness
Comes what sadness
Oh, what sadness,
Oh, what woe!
6. Even merit
May inherit
Some bare garret,
Or the ground;
Or, a worse ill,
Beg a morsel
At some door-sill,
Like a hound.
7. Storms are trailing,
Winds are wailing,
Howling, railing,
At each door.
’Midst this trailing,
Howling, railing,
List the wailing
Of the poor!