Wails, wails, wails, <br />The wind from its ice bound thrones; <br />Along the path it trails, <br />And whistles and roams <br />Across the gray old fields. <br /> <br /> <br />Sweeps, sweeps, sweeps, <br />Together the falling leaves, <br />And up the hillside leaps <br />Through the naked trees; <br />There shrieks, and roars, and storms; <br /> <br /> <br />And shakes, shakes, shakes <br />His mantle that holds the snows <br />Till the mute and silent flake, <br />Its purity throws <br />O'er all the dreary earth. <br /> <br /> <br />Then drives along the rain, <br />The cold benumbing rain; <br />Across the dreary plain, <br />Blows the hurricane <br />And freezes o'er the snow. <br /> <br /> <br />Till all is hard, cold ice, <br />Transparent, luminous ice, <br />Whose dumb but stern device <br />The rivers entice <br />To stand at last congealed. <br /> <br /> <br />Weeping now the angels go, <br />Since Winter's seductive hand <br />Polluted lovely Flo, <br />And his grim command <br />Her nectary fills with ice. <br /> <br /> <br />At the kiss of hoar frost, <br />The radiant angel swooned, <br />Of dire grief died, and lost <br />Her beautiful bloom - <br />Her rare ethereal bloom.<br /><br />Samuel Alfred Beadle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rape-of-the-flowers/
