A wraith-like mist drifts down the village street, And hurrying snowflakes borne upon the gale With many whirls and eddys, 'til they meet, Embrace, and rush from sight with doleful wail. I look out on a dreary, wintry scene; A tempest rages, it shuts out the light. It screams among the trees in accents keen, While dropping down the curtain of the night. Each passer-by, well muffled to the face, Bends forward to withstand the winter storm. He hugs his wrappings tight, he mends his pace 'Til snow, and falling night, blot out his form. In easychair, I sit beside the fire, And toast my feet, and watch the tempest rage, And moralize how fate could so conspire To place me here, an evidence of age. On such a day, I yield, give up the fight, And seek a corner warm, and safe, and dry, And thank my lucky stars 'twill soon be night, And let life's storms unheeded pass me by. |