The Coming of Winter / Archibald Lampman

     
The Coming of Winter

Out of the Northland sombre weirds are calling;
      A shadow falleth southward day by day;
Sad summer's arms grow cold; his fire is falling;
      His feet draw back to give the stern one way.

It is the voice and shadow of the slayer,
      Slayer of loves, sweet world, slayer of dreams;
Make sad thy voice with sober plaint and prayer;
      Make gray thy woods, and darken all thy streams.

Black grows the river, blacker drifts the eddy:
      The sky is grey; the woods are cold below:
Oh make thy bosom, and thy sad lips ready,
      For the cold kisses of the folding snow.

---
Archibald Lampman (1861-1899)
from Among the Millet, and other poems, 1888

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Archibald Lampman biography