Wearily the plain's
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.
Light of day is none,
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Where the woods are seen,
Grey the oak-trees lift
Through the vaporous screen
Like the clouds that drift.
Light of day is none,
Brazen is the sky;
Overhead the moon
Seems to live and die.
Broken-winded crow,
And you, lean wolves, when
The sharp north-winds blow,
What do you do then?
Wearily the plain's
Endless length expands;
The snow shines like grains
Of the shifting sands.