Now wildly sweeps the wind,
And wildly drives the sleet
DECEMBER fast draws nigh
Wrapped close from head to feet.
.
Her eyes glance restlessly
From shaken tree to plain,
The dark hair ‘neath her head
Is wet with frozen rain.
.
Her furry cloak she holds
With one hand round her form,
The other one lifts high
A torch to light the storm.
.
Scarce tree or shrub doth cheer
The dreary scene around,
Save for the moaning wind,
There is no other sound.
.
December’s eyes grow sad
And fainter still her tread;
One hears a long, low sigh
Which tells the year is dead.
One Seeker's Story 