Poem by Edmund William Gosse

A Winter Jingle

THE soft wind blows
Across the snows,
And turns the palest face to rose;
The wind it goes
Where no one knows,
Like water round the world it flows;
The sunlit air is warm and light
Though all the earth be wrapped in white.

But owlets shrill
Shriek round the hill
When twilight fades, and all is still;
The keen gusts fill
The frozen rill
With treacherous snowdrifts deep and chill;
The wanderer findeth small delight
In crossing there at dead of night. 

1. With a Copy of Herrick
2. The Mænad's Grave
3. At the Play
4. The Bath
5. Dedication to Austin Dobson

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