WINTER’S SORROWS.
There’s a bitterness and sorrow in the Winter’s leaden air,
A chilling sort of something that’s akin to human care,
A tender gray of sadness, like a voice of bygone gladness,
In the ashen sombre atmosphere that lingers everywhere.
There are tear-drops on the eyelid, in the Winter’s leaden air,
A sympathetic chord is touched that finds expression there;
Reality seems clearer, and the end of all seems nearer,
In the sober, flinty ether, supernaturally bare.