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Catalog Number KSa020045
Collection Kate Strong Historical Library
Object Name Poem
Title Winter
Creator Shepard Alonzo Mount
Dates of Creation 18??/??/??
Scope & Content First page

Well I love you, stearn old winter,
Your snowy locks and frosty breath,
Although your cold and icy mission
Bringeth suffering, want and death.

Whistling o'er hill and dale,
See the snowdrifts you have made.
Chuckling while you blow them up
To make the children laugh and wave.

The crows are gathering in the field
A hungry and excited throng.
Digging to get t the carcass
You have hid from them so long.

Pig and poultry, dog and cattle,
Shivering at the cottage door.
By their looks and wild impatience
You have pinched them here before.

Grown forgetful, growing older,
Surely would not do thee wrong,
Thoughts of other days constrain me
Now to solemnize my song.

Second page
Once I had a lovely daughter
Born on merry Christmas day;
Saw your breath upon the window
Pointing where the infant lay.

Pointed arrows from the heavens,
Shattered altar, figures kneeling,
Monuments and falling steeples,
Lakes and willows naught revealing.

Looked upon that mystic writing,
Those enchanting forms of light,
Did not deem it then prophetic,
Could not see the coming night

Years thereafter found me happy,
The babe in girlhood grown to be
The idol of her father's heart,
The minute hand of hope in me.

All the seasons in their changes,
All the bliss that change could bring;
Found her happy spirit in it
Her soul was ever on the wing.

Third page
More than all to thee, Old Winter
She looked with eyes of hopeful light,
For the snowflakes in the heavens
And merry sleigh bells of the night.

And merry Christmas to - Alas!
No more of such are left to me,
The decorated church - no more-
Or platted cross, I come to see

Gone to the silence of the grave
Where Greenwood bound the sylvan lake,
From oaken bluff I often watch
Its gentle rippling rise and break.

As beautiful to me, another,
Never will on earth be seen,
While each cherished thought of Tutie
Points me to `yon hallowed sheen.

Not many years, or months perchance,
May pass before myself shall go,
Come then Old Winter, kindly come
And deck my grave with sleet and snow.

In keeping with this fruitless life
The blasting winds and storms of hail,
My spirit will enjoy it so
To join you in that mournful wail.

S.A. Mount
Notes On three pages