WITH potent north winds rushing swiftly down,
Blended in glorious chant, on yester-night
Old Winter came with locks and beard of white.
The hoarfrost glittering on his ancient crown:
He sent his icy breathings through the pane,
He raved and rattled it the close-shut doors,
Then waned with hollow murmur down the moors,
To rise, revive and sweep the world again.
The chorus of great winds which gird him round
Hold many voices--the deep trumpet's swell,
The air harp's mournful burden of farewell,
The fife's shrill tones, the clarion's silvery sound:
But o'er the roof-tree, 'round the gable rings
Loudest his wind of onset, hour by hour,
Till a new sense of almost rapturous power
Comes on the mighty waftage of his wings;
Sense of fresh hope and faith's rekindled glow,
The awakened aim, the brain drawn tense and high,
To shoot its fiery thoughts against the sky,
Like arrows launched from some deft archer's bow!
All latent forces of our being start
To marshalled order, ranged in battle line,
While the roused life-blood with a thrill divine,
Runs tingling thro' the chambers of the heart.
Summer is rich with dreams of languid tone;
October sunsets feed the soul with light;
But give me winter's war wind in his might,
O'er the scourged lands and turbulent oceans blown.
