Labor and the Angel

by Duncan Campbell Scott

WINTER SONG.

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 go

Through the gloomy rift.

Sing me a song of the ringing blade,

Of the snarl and shatter the light ice makes,

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 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 lights

In the purple sky.