Such the might reborn of winter scenes, The bliss, the loveliness of snowy fields, The blackened forests and darkened woods, Distant fireworks of polar lights.

The red sunsets over frozen seas, The northern lights that flaunt in the sky, And all that is wrought of nature's might, The tender fragrances of snow.

The blackest darkness, darkness beyond shadow, My frigid breath, and a black and fuming vapour, The gloam of the spirits, the nameless fear, That dwells in this frozen wasteland.

Our cold eyes follow the smoky vapour, And to glitter back in all the hue of night, Where even the skeletons that sleep by our door, Would bear in their hollow eyes the flames of an odour, Smelling like death, The decaying flesh.

That, now that I am near it, Has laid in my breast the seeds of hate, Coldness, a death that grips the heart, And does not inure itself, Tho it is my very breath that breathes.