Finland

Feet and faces tingle  

In that frore land:  

Legs wobble and go wingle,  

You scarce can stand.  

The skies are jewelled all around,

The ploughshare snaps in the iron ground,  

The Finn with face like paper  

And eyes like a lighted taper  

Hurls his rough rune  

At the wintry moon

And stamps to mark the tune.