[FIRST WINTER-SONG]
A chill wind raging;
The sun low keeping,
Swift to set
O'er seas high sweeping.
Dull red the fern;
Shapes are shadows:
Wild geese mourn
O'er misty meadows.
Keen cold limes
Each weaker wing.
Icy times—
Such I sing!
Take my tidings!
Alfred Perceval Graves.
[SECOND WINTER-SONG]
Cold till Doom!
Glowers more fearfully the gloom!
Each gleaming furrow is a river,
A loch in each ford's room.
Each pool is deepened to a perilous pit,
A standing-stone each plain, a wood each moor;
The clamouring flight of birds no shelter finds,
White snow winds towards the door.