Winter's Death
Winter, the tough old jarl, is hard to die;
His parting breath smites April’s downy cheek
Stooping to find her violets, that, too weak
To push the dead leaves from their bosoms, try
To steal some glimpses of a softening sky
Between the tatters of his robe, though bleak
That latest gasp, ‘tis important to wreak
Hus dying hate on Spring’s new kingdom nigh.
Along the nor’ward slopes & sunless vales
Cling scattered fragments of his ermine, torn
By shafts of Phoebus,—the thin shreds he trails
After his sullen flight, till, overborne,
He sinks into his hyperborean tomb,
And all the spring-kissed earth laughs suddenly into bloom!
- Title
- Winter's Death
- First Line
- Winter, the tough old jarl, is hard to die;
- Creator
-
George Shepard Burleigh
- Bibliographic Citation
- George S. Burleigh Papers, 1825-1902. John Hay Library, Brown University. Miscellaneous Manuscripts, "W" folder, HA954
- Date
- Date tbd
- Subject
- Seasons - Winter
- Seasons - Spring
- Comments
- Known only in manuscript.
- Educated guess that this comes from later in his life
- Media
-
Winter's Death