The Snow Man.

Poor shape grotesque that careless hands have wrought!
    Frail wistful thing, left gaping at the sun
    With empty grin, 'tis well no blood shall run
Within thy frozen veins, no kindling thought
Light up those eyeless sockets wherein naught
    But hate could dwell if once they flashed the fire
    Of being, or the doom-gift of Desire
Should curse thy life, unbidden and unsought.
Poor snow man with thy tattered hat awry,
    And broomstick musket toppling from thy hands,
'Tis well thou hast no language to decry
    Thy poor creator or his vain commands;
No tear to shed that thou so soon must die,
    No voice to lift in prayer where no god understands!

Charles Hamilton Musgrove

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Charles Hamilton Musgrove

The Earthworm And The Star.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

The Dead Child.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

The Story Of Moses.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

In The Night.

Charles Hamilton Musgrove, Simple Poetry

English

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Pale, at its ghastly noon,
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Majestic King of storms! around
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The April Snow-Storm - 1858.

Spread lightly, virgin shower,
Your winding-sheet of snow;
Winter has lost his power,
But mock not at his woe.

Fall not so cold and bleak,
Nor blow the breath of scorn;
Gently.    Thy sire is weak;
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Frail type of life thou art:
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Fall gently, virgin shower,
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            -    -    -

Spread gently, virgin shower,
Your winding sheet of snow;
My heart has lost its power,
But mock not at its woe.

Fall not so cold and bleak,
Treat not her corse with scorn;
Gently.    My heart is weak;
She, too, ...

Charles Sangster

Songs Of The Winter Days

    I.

    The sky has turned its heart away,
    The earth its sorrow found;
    The daisies turn from childhood's play,
    And creep into the ground.

    The earth is black and cold and hard;
    Thin films of dry white ice,
    Across the rugged wheel-tracks barred,
    The children's feet entice.

    Dark flows the stream, as if it mourned
    The winter in the land;
    With idle icicles adorned,
    That mill-wheel soon will stand.

    But, friends, to say 'tis cold, and part,
    Is to let in the cold;
    We'll make a summer of the heart,
    And laugh at winter old.


    II.

    With vague dead gleam the morning white
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The Infanticide.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reached the appointed time.
Well, be it so prepare, my soul is ready,
Companions of the grave the rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewell receiving
My parting kisses in these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quits heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade;
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid,
Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet dreaming
Fancies the children that an Eden bore!
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Opening in happy sunlight never more.

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