Classic Poem

When stems of elms may rise in row,
Dark brown, from hillocks under snow,
And woods may reach as black as night
By sloping fields of cleanest white,
If shooters by the snowy rick,
Where trees are high, and wood is thick,
Can mark the tracks the game may prick,
They like the winter weather.

Or where may spread the grey-blue sheet
Of ice, for skaters' gliding feet
That they uplift, from side to side,
Long yards, and hit them down to slide;
Or sliders, one that totters slack
Of limb, and one that's on his back,
And one upright, that keeps his track,
Have fun, in winter weather.

When we at night, in snow and gloom,
May seek some neighbour's lighted room,
Though snow may show no path before
The house, we still can find the door;
And there, as round the brands may spread
The creeping fire of cherry red,
Our feet from snow, from wind our head,
Are warm, in winter weather.

Wherever day may give our road,
By hills, or hollows oversnow'd,
By windy gaps, or shelter'd nooks,
Or bridged ice of frozen brooks;
Still may we all, as night may come,
Know where to find a peaceful home,
And glowing fire for fingers numb
With cold, in winter weather.