The winter wind howls often at my door!

How soon the god of winter shall appear?

He strides through snow, the stuff of ancient lore

To rap upon my glass and banish cheer



And pushed before shivers the Frost, named Jack

To paint his work upon my window pane

For once he’s done winter calls him far back

And advances to establish his reign



The snow, falling softly, muffles all sound

The people stay warm in bed, hiding from him

Huddling together in shack or lodge

Searching for the sun in the clouds grim



One day it bursts forth with feeble light

Setting the god of winter to his flight