Classic Poem

The sleet drives sharply on the window-panes
And naked trees like scaffolds darkly stand;
The iron grasp of winter on the land
Locks fields and streams in glittering icy chains;
The north-wind wails in keen Polaric strains
And dead leaves dance a ghostly saraband,
While cloud-fleets dim, by shapes fantastic manned
Sail westward where the sunset coldly wanes.

But by the blaze of our red-glowing grate
We see beyond the armored line of eaves,
And mark the flashing of a flicker's wing;
And violets in the blue flames seem to wait,
While shining through a mist of emerald leaves,
Beckons and laughs the sweet, fresh face of Spring.