Winter

A voice of wail - a moaning in the woods -
     A low, sad moaning, as of spirits sighing,
     And winds in mournful cadences replying!
The fainting storm communeth with the floods,
     And the floods mourn—for Autumn hath departed,
     And kingly Winter, stern and iron-hearted,
Hath stilled their voice of music, and hath flung
Ice-fetters over them. The birds that sung
     Their glad hymns in the forest, ere the wind
Tore with rude hand their summer0homes away,
Have sought a warmer clime, and all the day
     Weave their delicious music unconfined.
What a weird power hath Winter! Nature feels
His potent touch, and humbly at his footstool kneels.