Classic Poem

Power of the awful wind, whose hollow blast
Hurls desolation wide! thy sway I hail.
It o'er the scene around can beauties cast
Superior far to aught that Summer's gale
Bids in the ripening year to bloom awake.
To view thy majesty, the cheerful tale,
The dance, the festive song, I pleased forsake,
And thro' thy sparkling scenes I stray alone,
Now the pale regent of thy splendid night
Decks with her yellow rays thy snowy throne.
Richly her beams on Summer's mantle light;
Richly they gild chill Autumn's tawny vest:
But, ah! to me they shine more chastely bright
Spangling the icy robe that wraps thy breast.