A Song In Season

I. When in the wind the vane turns round,      And round, and round; And in his kennel whines the hound; When all the gable eaves are bound With icicles of ragged gray,      A glinting gray; There is little to do, and much to say, And you hug your fire and pass the day With a thought of the springtime, dearie. II. When late at night the owlet hoots,      And hoots, and hoots; And wild winds make of keyholes flutes; When to the door the goodman's boots Stamp through the snow the light stains red,      The fire-light's red; There is nothing to do, and all is said, And you quaff your cider and go to bed With a dream of the summer, dearie. III. When, nearing dawn, the black cock crows,      And crows, and crows; And from the barn the milch-cow lows; And the milkmaid's cheeks have each a rose, And the still skies show a star or two,      Or one or two; There is little to say, and much to do, And the heartier done the happier you, With a song of the winter, dearie.