What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
Autumn, in his leafless bowers, is waiting for the winter's snow.
O Time and change! - with hair as gray as was my sire's that winter day, how strange it seems, with so much gone of life and love, to still live on!
Again the blackbirds sings; the streams Wake, laughing, from their winter dreams, And tremble in the April showers The tassels of the maple flowers.
All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain Like shadows on the winter sky Like frost upon the pane