Ii

Deep in the East a rosy glow Broadens and brightens, Glints through the icicles, row on row, Flames on the panes of the farm-house low, And over the miles of drifted snow Silently whitens.

Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky, When the last star closes its icy eye, And deep in the road the snow drifts lie, And the old clock ticks, “’Tis late! ’tis late!” And the flame on the hearth leaps red, leaps high-- Sing, Ho, a song of the winter sky! Sing, Ho!