Thou Whose Face Hath Felt The Winter's Wind

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars
To thee the spring will be a harvest time

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when phaebus was away
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars
To thee the spring shall be a harvest time

O thou, whose face hath felt the winter's wind
Whose eyes has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist

O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when phaebus was away
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn

O fret not after knowledge - I have none
And yet my song comes native with the warmth
O fret not after knowledge - I have none
And yet the evening listens
He who saddens at thought of idleness cannot be idle
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep

O thou who bent in all the autumn-storms
Like the trees at the moor amidst the woeful winds
To thy wretched heart the spring shall be a triple morn
Alas! I still long for it! I long for it!