Classic Poem

'T IS winter now, dear love,
'Tis winter, bitter, chill and full of care;
Scarce do the hill-tops feel the touch of day
Ere they be fading in the darkened air
Betwixt the sunset and the gloaming gray.
Scarce do the dells awaken with the sun,
So tranced and still, each tangled, snowy steep;
Scarce do the muffled, tinkling waters run,
So lonely are the vales through which they creep;
Ten years, sweet Mistress, would I give for one
If that could bring thee here,
So lonely are the fields; so silent and so drear.

'Tis winter now, dear love,
The thrush sings not, or sings in other lands:
Dear memory is but pain and hope unblest;
Upon life's threshold chilled affection stands
Like some poor faltering and unbidden guest.

The flowers of one sweet summer-time are dead,
Deep in the snow-drifts buried they are sleeping,
So soulless is the sun when love hath fled,
Our treasured garlands wither with the keeping.
I would the frozen earth were now my bed,
So thought might start no tear,
So lonely is my life, so wretched and so drear.