Winter's Last Trophy Poem by Josias Homely

Occasioned by seeing the remnant of a pyramid of snow
near a bed of early flowers.


Pale remnant of dark and tempestuous hours.
What dost thou here in the time of flowers ?
Thy kindred with frolic, and tumult and foam.
Are wending their way to their ocean home ;
And in sun-light and mirth, where the fountains play.
They are calling to thee—come away—away.

Hai-k the gentle voice of that breeze is heard
Which brings to our shores the summer bird;
And their joyous bands in the south have met.
Around tower, and dome, and minaret.
They will laugh in scorn, o'er the dull delav,
Of their tyrant slain— so away—away.

And the infant flowers, with laughing eyes,
Are looking upon thee with meek surprise ;
The spring's young blossoms around thee blow,
The cold stern frowns of their vanquish'd foe,
The fair and the frail can no more dismay,
Let their sweet breath warn thee—away—away.

The south sends her army of zephyrs forth,
They have walk'd on the hills of the frozen north ;
And joy fills with song the lark's speckled breast.
And the bee has awoke from its winter rest.
Weep on—weep on—till thy heart decay,
All glad things hate thee—away—away.