Wednesday, September 18, 2013

The rude and wild winter weather

The rude and wild winter weather
contrives to keep us not together;
it troubles all these Yorkshire hills,
it breaks and batters, freezes, kills.

Cloud-shadows pass across the heath,
the wind bites hard with bitter teeth.
The gorse-grass shivers in the cold,
the crowberry cowers upon the mould.

At noontide, a tattered raven croaks
from bare and frosty windswept oaks.
He knows not why the maiden weeps,
but with the trees a vigil he keeps.

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