Address To A Child During A Boisterous Winter

By My Sister

What way does the wind come? What way does he go? He rides over the water, and over the snow, Through wood, and through vale; and, o'er rocky height Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight; He tosses about in every bare tree, As, if you look up, you plainly may see; But how he will come, and whither he goes, There's never a scholar in England knows. He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook And ring a sharp 'larum;-but, if you should look, There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk, And softer than if it were covered with silk. Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a rock, Then whistle as shrill as the buzzard cock; -Yet seek him,-and what shall you find in the place? Nothing but silence and empty space; Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, That he's left, for a bed, to beggars or thieves! As soon as 'tis daylight to-morrow, with me You shall go to the orchard, and then you will see That he has been there, and made a great rout, And cracked the branches, and strewn them about; Heaven grant that he spare but that one upright twig That looked up at the sky so proud and big All last summer, as well you know, Studded with apples, a beautiful show! Hark! over the roof he makes a pause, And growls as if he would fix his claws Right in the slates, and with a huge rattle Drive them down, like men in a battle: -But let him range round; he does us no harm, We build up the fire, we're snug and warm; Untouched by his breath see the candle shines bright, And burns with a clear and steady light; Books have we to read,-but that half-stifled knell, Alas! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock bell. -Come now we'll to bed! and when we are there He may work his own will, and what shall we care? He may knock at the door,-we'll not let him in; May drive at the windows,-we'll laugh at his din; Let him seek his own home wherever it be; Here's a 'cozie' warm house for Edward and me.