The woods are haggard and lonely,
The skies are hooded for snow,
The moon is cold in Heaven,
And the grasses are sere below.
The bearded swamps are breathing
A mist from meres afar,
And grimly the Great Bear circles
Under the pale Pole Star.
There is never a voice in Heaven,
Nor ever a sound on earth,
Where the spectres of winter are rising
Over the night's wan girth.
There is slumber and death in the silence,
There is hate in the winds so keen;
And the flash of the north's great sword-blade
Circles its cruel sheen.
The world grows agèd and wintry,
Love's face peakèd and white;
And death is kind to the tired ones
Who sleep in the north to-night.
Notes
Composition date is unknown - the above date represents the first publication date.
The lyrical form of this poem is abcb.
1.sere: withered.
1.meres: pools of water.
1.Great Bear: the constellatio
1.wan girth: the dark band of night encircling the northern
hemisphere.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
The lingo of older speech that is formed in this piece is simply wonderful, many great lines that create wonderful images with great metaphors woven to the aspect of a life as it disintegrates into the breath of death, as my take on this, how so it could be viewed differently to the seasons arrival to the poet then, and I was quite swayed with its' conclusion...
"and death is kind to the tired ones
Who sleep in the north to-night"
greatly delved, nice to read other Canadian writers as such as this one, thank you~
-
A lovely piece. The imagery is just pure fantastic and brilliant, and the flow really smooth and definitely wonderful...truly a piece that is worth mentioning in every aspect that I can think of.
Adding your comment:
