Poems (McDonald)/The First Snow
THE FIRST SNOW
Thy mantle white is on the senseless earth,
Spirit of Winter—old Eolus rude
Pipes from his northern home in fiercest mood;
And o'er the crisped wreaths, with shouts of mirth,
And chiming bells, and laughter ringing free,
Glides the swift sleigh; while merry urchins play,
Tossing the frozen balls in heart-felt glee,
Or forming uncouth shapes of monsters grim,
To melt like youthful hopes, when next the ray
Of noontide streams on each misshapen limb.
The naked branches wear a spotless vest—
While through the window infant faces peep,
Lured from their downy beds and early sleep,
Wondering to mark the earth in wintry garments drest.
Spirit of Winter—old Eolus rude
Pipes from his northern home in fiercest mood;
And o'er the crisped wreaths, with shouts of mirth,
And chiming bells, and laughter ringing free,
Glides the swift sleigh; while merry urchins play,
Tossing the frozen balls in heart-felt glee,
Or forming uncouth shapes of monsters grim,
To melt like youthful hopes, when next the ray
Of noontide streams on each misshapen limb.
The naked branches wear a spotless vest—
While through the window infant faces peep,
Lured from their downy beds and early sleep,
Wondering to mark the earth in wintry garments drest.