Edmund Peel

THOU of the snowy vest and frosted hair,

With icicles down-hanging, Winter, hail!

Never be mine against a power to rail

Ancient as Night! to deem thee void and bare,

Cousin of Death, twin-brother of Despair!

Rather shall praises in my song prevail,

Praises of Him who gives us to inhale

The freshness of the uninfected air.

So long as I behold the clear blue sky,

The carol of the robin-redbreast hear,

And o’er the frozen waters seem to fly;

Or, softly cushioned, while the fire burns clear,

Bask in the light of a beloved eye,

So long, O Winter! to my soul be dear.