Photo by cheriedurbin on Morgue File.
I came across this poem, as I sit and look out the window at winter’s chilly breath. I thought it went well with the sentiments I expressed in yesterday’s post. I hope you enjoy it! The poet is Emma Lyon and the source is listed beneath the poem.
Ode to Winter
When Winter’s silver mantle spreads the ground,
And robes fair nature in her vestment pale,
My wand’ring eyes gaze o’er the chilling round,
As sad I listen to the plaintive wail
Of airy songsters, while aloft they soar,
And with fleet wings etherial tracks explore.
Now all is hush’d, save where the murm’ring breeze
Sighs thro’ the barren trunks with hollow moan;
Sad desolation thrills the naked trees,
And wildly echoes, Nature’s charms are flown:
‘Tis Winter shrilly in each blast I hear,
And o’er her ruins drop a mournful tear.
Yet pine not, mortals, while its passing wing
Chills the warm vale, and saddens all the plains;
From yon thick clouds will burst the genial spring,
And brooding soft unbind its icy chains;
Fresh breathing Zephyr shall dissolve the snow,
And cheerful green revest the mountain’s brow.
The dance, the song, shall soon revive the lawn,
While smiling fair the gates of heaven unfold,
The plant, the flow’r, the bird, salute the dawn,
And Phoebus glory to disarm the cold:
Once more the shepherds and the sheep shall fill
The vale luxuriant, and the climbing hill.
Till then, the Muse, in depth of wintry gloom
Shall shoot her beams athwart the shades of night,
And ere the spring re-animates the gloom,
Shall gild the fields with visionary light;
While hoary frost benumbs creation round,
Unchill’d alone the tuneful lyres resound.