Cold, cold! Cold to-night is broad Moylurg, Higher the snow than the mountain-range, The deer cannot get at their food. Cold till Doom! The storm has spread over all: A river is each furrow upon the slope, Each ford a full pool. A great tidal sea is each loch, A full loch is each pool: Horses cannot get over the ford of Ross, No more can two feet get there. The fish of Ireland are a-roaming, There is no strand which the wave does not pound, Not a town there is in the land, Not a bell is heard, no crane talks. The wolves of Cuan-wood get Neither rest nor sleep in their lair, The little wren cannot find Shelter in her nest on the slope of Lon. Keen wind and cold ice Has burst upon the little company of birds, The blackbird cannot get a lee to her liking, Shelter for its side in Cuan-wood. Cosy our pot on its hook, Crazy the hut on the slope of Lon: The snow has crushed the wood here, Toilsome to climb up Ben-bo. Glenn Rye's ancient bird From the bitter wind gets grief; Great her misery and her pain, The ice will get into her mouth. From flock and from down to rise -- Take it to heart! -- were folly for thee; Ice in heaps on every ford -- That is why I say "cold"! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GOD SAVE THE NATION! by THEODORE TILTON THE FOUNDERS OF OHIO by WILLIAM HENRY VENABLE THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT by DOROTHY WORDSWORTH A LOVE-MESSAGE by LILLIAN CORBETT BARNES MOURNING WOMEN by MATHILDE BLIND SONNET by ETIENNE DE LA BOETIE LAST DAYS OF QUEEN ELIZABETH by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON ON CLEADA'S HILL THE MOON IS BRIGHT by JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN |