VI.
The green leaves stript have left the woods
Towering—their tall arms bleak and bare;
And now they choke the sounding floods,
Or fill, in clouds, the rushing air!
VII.
Yet turn we here! The winter's fire,
Its crackling faggots blazing bright,
Hath joys that never, never tire,
And looks that fill us with delight.
VIII.
Home's joys! Ah yes, 'tis these are ours,
Home's looks and hearts! 'tis these can bring
A something sweeter than the flowers,
And purer than the airs of spring.
IX.
Then welcome be old Winter here!
Ay! welcome be the stormy hour;
Our kindly looks and social cheer
Shall cheat the monarch of his power!
X.
With mirth and joy the hours we'll crown—
Love to our festival we'll bring!
And calm the sturdy blusterer down,
And make him smiling as the spring!