Lake Lyrics and Other Poems

by William Wilfred Campbell




LIKE vikings came the rude blasts of November
   Chanting aloud the death song of the year;
Sadder and bleaker came the pale December,
With haggard woods and fitful dying ember,
   And leaves all dead and sere,

                                        Withered and sere.

I sit alone where the bright hearth-logs gleaming
   Into the gusty night red sparks do send;
The chimney’s moan doth answer to my dreaming,
And the old year hath to me all the seeming


   Of a familiar friend,
                         An old but vanished friend.

Bloweth the winter, from his forest leaping,
   Loud Boreas cometh from bleak arctic field,
Cometh with white gust in the midnight sweeping,

And findeth the Old Year like some Norse-king sleeping
   Upon his battle shield,
               With white locks, on his shield.