Though winter winds are whistling loud,
And skies are cold and gray,
Though earth lies mute beneath her shroud,
The skaters! what care they?
A happy throng,
With mirth and song,
O'er fields of ice they swiftly glide.
As sea-birds sail above the tide.

Oh, Well they know the winter hours
Fly faster as they sing, —
That sooner come the birds and flowers
And loveliness of Spring;
So, night or day,
Away! away!
O'er crystal plains, with mirth and song,
They speed, they speed like the wind along!

The heated room, the crowded hall,
Where pride and fashion meet,
While waves of music rise and fall
In time to dancing feet, —
They seek not these;
For them the breeze.
And the gleaming floor o'er which they go
Like arrows shot from the hunter's bow.

Then loud the stormy winds may blow,
And skies be cold and gray;
Then earth may wear its robe of snow, —
They laugh the hours away!
With mirth and song,
A merry throng,
O'er fields of ice they swiftly glide,
As sea-birds sail above the tide.