The blast rolls down from an icy zone,
Where the lonely Arctic sea
Hath stormed and raged through infinite years
In terrible, desolate glee.
The trees are rocked and the hills are swept,
And the vales are pent with snow,
By the furious sweep of the icy winds,
That ceaselessly come and go.
The trees are bare and the hills are dead,
And the vales are shorn of their bloom;
Where all was joy ere the summer died
Is now but a mocking tomb.
The stream is hushed, and the river stilled,
And the sky is dark as doom,
And the merciless swirl of the driving snow
Makes deeper the dismal gloom.
Relentless winter! thy iron clasp
And withering icy breath
Earth’s fragrant loveliness have slain—
Thou art but a type of death.
And phantom hands seem beckoning me,
And voices as from the dead—
Dear spirit voices of long ago—
As I bow my stricken head.
My heart is full and the tears will fall,
And my thoughts are heavy with pain;
I’m weary of loss and loneliness,
And this wild, dark winter plain.
I long, so long, for the summer time,
With its birds and fairest flowers,
The sun-crowned hills, the song of the sea,
The meads and the greenwood bowers.
The murmuring rills and soft twilight,
The sigh of the wandering breeze,
Caressing the sea, and dying away
To a whisper among the trees.
But as I dream and the snow falls fast,
Comes this thought with glad surprise:
There’ll be no grievous loss nor death,
No winter in paradise.
I SAW HER FACE TO-DAY.
I saw her fair face to-day,
After the flight of years;
I saw, and my eyes grew dim
With a mist of weary tears.
Lost, when the summer faded
Into sad autumn time,
And the winds grew melancholy—
A tender and sad repine.
Sad and silent we lingered
As the twilight crept away,
And the shadows nearer drew
Through the stillness soft and gray.
We’d loved with a love as holy
As mortal heart e’er knew,
But we severed the tie and parted,
Into lonesome night withdrew.