Page:Last poems (IA lastpoems00hou).pdf/47

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XX
The night is freezing fast,
To-morrow comes December;
  And winterfalls of old
Are with me from the past;
And chiefly I remember
  How Dick would hate the cold.

Fall, winter, fall; for he,
Prompt hand and headpiece clever,
  Has woven a winter robe,
And made of earth and sea
His overcoat for ever,
  And wears the turning globe.

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