Mrs. Mary Noel McDonald

THY MANTLE white is on the senseless earth,

Spirit of Winter; old Æolus rude

Pipes from his northern home in fiercest mood;

And o’er the crispéd wreaths with shouts of mirth,

And chiming bells, and laughter ringing free,

Glides the swift sleigh; while merry urchins play,

Tossing the frozen balls in heart-felt glee,

Or forming uncouth shapes of monsters grim,

To melt like youthful hopes, when next the ray

Of noontide streams on each misshapen limb.

The naked branches wear a spotless vest;

While through the window infant faces peep,

Lured from their downy beds and early sleep,

Wondering to mark the earth in wintry garments drest.