The Last Snow

Hurrah Boys! here is the snow once more!
    Old Whitehead is combing his locks again,
And strewing them over the meadow floor,
    While Jack Frost scribbles the window pane
With feathery fern-leaves, oe’r & oe’r.

As Spring sat thinking of putting down
    Her span-new carpet of red & green,
Over this matting of faded brown,
    And of getting to her birds to cheer the scene
Of a brave house-warming, – Whew! that brown
    Of her surly old father, Winter, brings
An angry pout to her pretty mouth;
“I’ll give you a carpet!” – the old wretch sings [??]
“Throwing sheep’s-eyes to the wooing South!”
And his chilly mantle abroad he flings.

Down stilly it causes, though cold & white,
    The miniature of every flower
    That the summer knows, as if his spite
Were only the mask of a loving power,
    Tender at heart, but fierce to the sight.

Hurrah! no matter if spring do pout;
    We’ll give the old Growler a gay farewell,
Our sleds like arrows shall shoot our shout
    From the hill-tops down to the dusky dell,
Till the owl cries “Who?” as he stares about!
    
The sun, gone up to a loftier noon,
    Has softened the drifts along the wall,
The rolling balls grow fast, & soon
    We’ll fashion our white Sevastopol 
With a white Todleben throned aboon. [???]

Now man the fortress & hold it well,
    And storm the works with a wild attack!
The half within rain shot & shell,
    That the half without how fiercely back,
Till the snow falls faster than first it fell!

Here is the high-school of brave men,
    Men who’ll capture the grim North Pole,
The Great Bear hunt to his icy den,
    And run a down train through Symmes’ Hole,
To come by telegraph back again! 

Good bye old Winter! the clinking sun
    Is getting the start of your surly mood,
Your frozen cheeks begin to run
    With tears that flow from a heart subdued,
Old Rough, good bye to your ray of fun!