Wails, wails, wails,
The wind from its ice bound thrones;
Along the path it trails,
And whistles and roams
Across the gray old fields.
Sweeps, sweeps, sweeps,
Together the falling leaves,
And up the hillside leaps
Through the naked trees;
There shrieks, and roars, and storms;
And shakes, shakes, shakes
His mantle that holds the snows
Till the mute and silent flake,
Its purity throws
O'er all the dreary earth.
Then drives along the rain,
The cold benumbing rain;
Across the dreary plain,
Blows the hurricane
And freezes o'er the snow.
Till all is hard, cold ice,
Transparent, luminous ice,
Whose dumb but stern device
The rivers entice
To stand at last congealed.
Weeping now the angels go,
Since Winter's seductive hand
Polluted lovely Flo,
And his grim command
Her nectary fills with ice.
At the kiss of hoar frost,
The radiant angel swooned,
Of dire grief died, and lost
Her beautiful bloom -
Her rare ethereal bloom.