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| WHEN winter winds are piercing chill, | |
| And through the hawthorn blows the gale, | |
| With solemn feet I tread the hill, | |
| That overbrows the lonely vale. | |
| |
| O’er the bare upland, and away | 5 |
| Through the long reach of desert woods, | |
| The embracing sunbeams chastely play, | |
| And gladden these deep solitudes. | |
| |
| Where, twisted round the barren oak, | |
| The summer vine in beauty clung, | 10 |
| And summer winds the stillness broke, | |
| The crystal icicle is hung. | |
| |
| Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs | |
| Pour out the river’s gradual tide, | |
| Shrilly the skater’s iron rings, | 15 |
| And voices fill the woodland side. | |
| |
| Alas! how changed from the fair scene, | |
| When birds sang out their mellow lay, | |
| And winds were soft, and woods were green, | |
| And the song ceased not with the day! | 20 |
| |
| But still wild music is abroad, | |
| Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; | |
| And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, | |
| Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud. | |
| |
| Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear | 25 |
| Has grown familiar with your song; | |
| I hear it in the opening year, | |
| I listen, and it cheers me long. | |
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