54
Atmosphere.
ATMOSPHERES.
Low and heavy, cold and gray,
Hang the clouds in drear November,
While the wind, with sullen moan,
Train of ills its undertone,
Sweeps upon us from the east,
Head and heart and flesh the prey
To Pandora's woes. Dark day!
'Tis a day we shall remember.
Hang the clouds in drear November,
While the wind, with sullen moan,
Train of ills its undertone,
Sweeps upon us from the east,
Head and heart and flesh the prey
To Pandora's woes. Dark day!
'Tis a day we shall remember.
Winter comes, and northern wind
Blows from coldest arctic places,—
Lands where slender flowers pale
Waft no fragrance on the gale.
Pure and strong thy breath we find,
Spirit of the frost and sleet.
Only stout and stanch can meet
Thy cold touch upon their faces.
Blows from coldest arctic places,—
Lands where slender flowers pale
Waft no fragrance on the gale.
Pure and strong thy breath we find,
Spirit of the frost and sleet.
Only stout and stanch can meet
Thy cold touch upon their faces.
Sweet south wind, from land so fair,
Balm of love and fragrance flinging,
Balm of love and fragrance flinging,
