The Winter Lakes by William Wilfred Campbell
Out in a world of death far to the northward lying, Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day; Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying, Wan and waste
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Out in a world of death far to the northward lying, Under the sun and the moon, under the dusk and the day; Under the glimmer of stars and the purple of sunsets dying, Wan and waste
The winter wind is raving fierce and shrill And chides with angry moan the frosty skies, The white stars gaze with sleepless Gorgon eyes That freeze the earth in terror fixed and still. We reck no
Although the roof is just a story high,It dizzies me a little to look down.I lariat-twirl the rope of Christmas lightsAnd cast it to the weeping birch's crown;A dowel into which I've screwed a hoo
When Winter snows upon thy golden hairs, And frost of age hath nipt thy flowers near, When dark shall seem thy day that never clears, And all lies wither'd that was held so dear, Then take this pi
LIKE the vultureWho on heavy morning cloudsWith gentle wing reposingLooks for his prey,--Hover, my song!For a God hathUnto each prescribedHis destined path,Which the happy oneRuns o'er swift
1 For weeks and weeks the autumn world stood still,2 Clothed in the shadow of a smoky haze;3 The fields were dead, the wind had lost its will,4 And all the lands were hushed by
When against earth a wooden heel Clicks as loud as stone on steel, When stone turns flour instead of flakes, And frost bakes clay as fire bakes, When the hard-bitten fields at last Crack like iro
[Supposed to be chanted to some rude instrument at a modern fireplace]Chant we the story now Tho' in a house we sleep; Tho' by a hearth of coals Vigil to-night we keep. Chant we the stor
When the light falls on winter eveningsAnd the river makes no sound in its passingBehind the house, is silent but for its coldFlowing, its reeds frozen stiffer than glassHow can one anticipate the
"Blow, blow, thou winter wind."Away from here,And I shall greet thy passing breathWithout a tear.I do not love thy snow and sleetOr icy flows;When I must jump or stamp to warmMy freezing toes.
Oh, pretty girl, you have trapped yourself in the wrong body.Twenty extra pounds hang like a lumpy tapestry on your perfect mammal nature.Three months ago you were like a deer staring at the fir
All night, all day, in dizzy, downward flight, Fell the wild-whirling, vague, chaotic snow, Till every landmark of the earth below, Trees, moorlands, roads, and each familiar sight Were blotted ou