A wild wind-stripped maidenhood
Of boughs bare, and torn away
from trees who long for warmth;
And grasses refusing to grow,
And fawns staying close to the doe, as
The azure of summer does not come forth-
She brings the roar of a lion's breath,
That faery maliciously advances
with a film of pale sunshine upon her head;
Too far to reach us here on Earth
She laughs with shrill and mocking mirth, as
The cardinal sings back, sharp and red-
Just yesterday, she was softly rich
Tiptoeing through the winter morn with
whispers of times so warm and bright;
But this year she loved the snow
And lost her youthful glow, as
The world grew old and bitter with blight.
