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.
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"Out of the Northland sombre weirds are calling;..."
Archibald Lampman's contribution to classic is further solidified by the brilliance found in "The Coming Of Winter."... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...