Classic Poem

Oh , stormy wind of winter-time,
Moan wildly as you will;
His rest you cannot trouble now,
His heart you cannot chill.

Lean to the earth, oh, summer corn,
Before the dim wet blast;
His eyes have seen the golden calm
Of harvests never past.

Deep in your bosom fold, oh earth,
Your shining flowers away;
His steps are in the lily fields
Of never ending May.

Draw your red shadows from the wall,
Oh beauteous ember-glow;
Drift cold about his silent house,
Oh white December snow;

Across the sparkle of the dew
Dry dust in whirlwinds pour;
Hide, new moon, in the cloudy skies—
He needs your light no more!