THE WOLF CRY
The Arctic moon hangs overhead;
The wide white silence lies below.
A starveling pine stands lone and gaunt,
Black-penciled on the snow.
The wide white silence lies below.
A starveling pine stands lone and gaunt,
Black-penciled on the snow.
Weird as the moan of sobbing winds,
A lone long call floats up from the trail,
And the naked soul of the frozen North
Trembles in that wail.
A lone long call floats up from the trail,
And the naked soul of the frozen North
Trembles in that wail.
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