Last night the heavy moaning wind Bore unto me Warning from Him who hath designed That change shall be.
Beneath these mighty hills I lay, At rest at last, And thinking on the golden day But now gone past;
When softly came a faint, far cry That night made clear, “Thy reign is over, thou must die; Winter is near!”
“Winter is near!” Yea, all night long Reechoed far The burden of that weary song Of hopeless war.
I prayed unto the fixed King Of changing Time For longer life, till sun-rising And morning's prime,
And while to-day I watched the sun Rise, slant, and die; And now is night the stronger one. Again the cry
Comes, louder now,— “Thy reign is o'er!” Yes, Lord, I know; And here I kneel on Earth's cold floor Once, ere I go,
And thank Thee for the long, long days Thou gavest me, And all the pleasant, laughing ways I walked with Thee.
I have been happy since the first Glad day I rose And found the river here had burst Through ice and snows
While I had slept. Blue places were Amidst the gray, Where water showed; and the water Most quiet lay.
Upon the ice great flocks of crows Were clamoring — Lest my blue eyes again should close — The eyes of Spring.
I stepped down to the frozen shore — The snow was gone; And lo, where ice had been before, The river shone!
With loud, hoarse cries back flew the birds To the tall pines; These were the first of Spring's faint words And Summer's signs.
And now I hear Thee — “Thou must die!” Ah, might I stay, That I might hear one robin's cry Bringing the day;
That I might see the new grass come Where cattle range; The maples bud, wild roses bloom, Old willows change;
That I might know one night in June Two found most fair, And see again the great half-moon Shine through her hair;
Or under rough, gnarled boughs might lie, Where orchards are, And hear some glad child's laughing cry Ring loud and far;
Or even, Lord, though near my end It surely be, Couldst Thou not hold Time back, and send One day to me,
One day — October's brown and red Cover the hills, And all the brakes and ferns are dead, And quiet fills
One place where many birds once sang? Then should I go Where heavy fir-trees overhang Their branches so,
And slim white birches, quivering, Loose yellow leaves, And aspens grow, and everything For Summer grieves.
Ah, there once more, ere day be done, To face the west, And see the sure and scarlet sun Sink to its rest
Beyond the ploughed field sloping sheer Up to the sky; To feel the last light disappear And silent die;
To see faint stars.... Yea, Lord, I come; I hear Thy call; Reach me Thy hand and guide me home, Lest I should fall....
Back, Winter! Back!... Yea, Lord, I, dead, Now come to Thee; I know Thy voice, and Thou hast said “Let Winter be!”
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