Classic Poem

When I the winter wind can hear,
And blithely sings the hemlock tree,
And the moon's slim sickle glitters clear,
On a November sea.

So brave a mood the season shows,
He finds me jolly day by day;
I let my cares die with the rose,
And all my songs are gay!

So merrily then the frost king shakes
The snowy powder from his locks;
So merrily through the frozen brakes
I track the hungry fox;

Or when the enchanted floods congeal
By night to crystal pavements, bind
On eager feet the sounding steel,
And leave the wind behind!

All sights and sounds that please me most,
With thee, hale Winter, come and go;
Gray uplands silvery with frost,
And clamorous with the crow;

Still glens and purple summits cold,
And the bald woods more pleasure bring
Then all the younger seasons hold,
What e'er the poets sing.

But now the winter days are spent,
The winter winds are blown away;
I waste the hours in discontent
And sicken of the May.

To see the rose indeed is good—
To hear the swallows at the eaves;
But more to me the wailing wood,
And the smell of sodden leaves!

'Tis true I value at his rate,
The man who warms in Springs defence—
The buxom hours that reinstate
The sovereignty of sense;

But I feast my soul on royal cheer,
I laud the season, brave and free,
When I the winter wind can hear,
And blithely sings the hemlock tree!