The Winter has got not one son
But many in the blizzard frost
Their grey trees blur in hazy dun
Of withered life, of cold light lost
They play in swifts of icy wind
And shadows, dark and cold, go in

But gone are beings—the light burns
And but for me there is no one
Phantom air breathes silent urns
All is concealed from sky’s black sun
My dormant woods of snow so thick
Hide lost silence, and sleep cryptic

From the quiet come sweet whispers
Like specter children through the trees
Come, approach, our days grow dimmer
My heart feels hot, your heart I’ll seize
To draw the cold from misery
And incur Winter’s jealousy

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