Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then,
A blood-red orange, and sets again.
Before the Stars have left the skies,
At morning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, rise and dress.
Close by the jolly fire I sit,
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.
When to go out, my nurse doth wrap,
Me in my comforter and cap;
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose.
Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And hill and house, and tree and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding cake.
No comments:
Post a Comment