Classic Poem

The shades of night were falling fast,
And the rain was falling faster;
When through an Alpine village passed
An Alpine village pastor:
A youth who bore mid snow and ice
A bird that wouldn't chirrup,
And a banner with the strange device—
‘Mrs Winslow's soothing syrup.’

‘Beware the pass,’ the old man said,
‘My bold, my desperate fellah;
Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
And you'll want your umberella;
And the roaring torrent is deep and wide—
You may hear how loud it washes.’
But still that clarion voice replied:
‘I've got my old goloshes.’

‘Oh, stay,’ the maiden said, ‘and rest
(For the wind blows from the nor'ward)
Thy weary head upon my breast—
And please don't think I'm forward.’
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
And he gladly would have tarried;
But still he answered with a sigh:
‘Unhappily I'm married.’

The shades of night were falling fast,
And the rain was falling faster,
When through an Alpine village passed
An Alpine village pastor:
A youth who bore mid snow and ice
A bird that wouldn't chirrup,
And a banner with the strange device—
‘Mrs Winslow's soothing syrup.’

‘Beware the pass,’ the old man said,
‘My bold, my desperate fellah;
Dark lowers the tempest overhead,
And you'll want your umbrella;
And the roaring torrent is deep and wide—
You may hear how loud it washes.’
But still that clarion voice replied:
‘I've got my old goloshes.’

‘Oh, stay,’ the maiden said, ‘and rest
(For the wind blows from the nor'ward)
Thy weary head upon my breast—
And please don't think I'm forward.’
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
And he gladly would have tarried;
But still he answered with a sigh:
‘Unhappily I'm married.’