SONNET. WINTER.

By Nathaniel Parker Willis

The frozen ground looks gray.‘ Twill shut the snow

Out from its bosom, and the flakes will fall

Softly and lie upon it. The hushed flow

Of the ice-covered waters, and the call

Of the cold driver to his oxen slow,

And the complaining of the gust, are all

That I can hear of music — would that I

With the green summer like a leaf might die?

So will a man grow gray, and on his head

The snow of years lie visibly, and so

Will come a frost when his green years have fled,

And his chilled pulses sluggishly will flow,

And his deep voice be shaken — would that I

In the green summer of my youth might die!