Classic Poem

A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture thee,
Old Winter, with a rugged beard as gray
As the long moss upon the apple tree;
Blue lipped, an ice drop at thy sharp blue nose,
Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way
Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.
They should have drawn thee by the high-leaped hearth,
Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair,
Watching the children at their Christmas mirth.