I mind me how the northern whirlwind tore
Our wood. I saw those agèd giants quake.
Their wreckage lay about my cavern door.
I shut it close and, deep in withered brake,
I hugged my icy flanks all shivering,
And closed mine eyes, and dreamed of spring—of spring
Whose voice would bid me wake.
And next I heard the inmost water run
In the cliff’s heart, and wondered, half asleep,
If all the snow were melted in the sun,