XX.

The night is freezing fast,

To-morrow comes December;

And winterfalls of old

Are with me from the past;

And chiefly I remember

How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,

Prompt hand and headpiece clever,

Has woven a winter robe,

And made of earth and sea

His overcoat for ever,

And wears the turning globe.