Winter Song Poem by Ruth Manning-Sanders

Good-night, good-night, the log bums low.
The nodding shadows nod more slow.
Lift, and fall, and die ;
The night hangs drear.
And the stars in fear
Are huddled behind the sky ;
The frail moon struggles nigh.
Black cloud-monsters round her cling;
The wind's a scourge, and the waves leap bellowing.

Their falling shakes the earth,—away !
Comfort is none. Till shivering day
Uncurtain the cold east.
And sleety rain descend again
On man and labouring beast.
This joy be ours at least:
Through the dark night to dream of Spring,
Whilst the sea roars, and the wind runs whinnying.