In the jolly winters Of the long-ago, It was not so cold as now— O! No! No! Then, as I remember, Snowballs, to eat, Were as good as apples now, And every bit as sweet!
II.
In the jolly winters Of the dead-and-gone, Bub was warm as summer, With his red mitts on,— Just in his little waist- And-pants all together, Who ever heard him growl About cold weather?
III.
In the jolly winters of the long-ago— Was it half so cold as now? O! No! No! Who caught his death o' cold, Making prints of men Flat-backed in snow that now's Twice as cold again?
IV.
In the jolly winters Of the dead-and-gone, Startin' out rabbit-hunting Early as the dawn,— Who ever froze his fingers, Ears, heels, or toes,— Or'd a cared if he had? Nobody knows!
V.
Nights by the kitchen-stove, Shelling white and red Corn in the skillet, and Sleepin' four abed! Ah! the jolly winters Of the long-ago! We were not so old as now— O! No! No!
THREE DEAD FRIENDS.
Always suddenly they are gone— The friends we trusted and held secure— Suddenly we are gazing on, Not a smiling face, but the marble-pure Dead mask of a face that nevermore To a smile of ours will make reply— The lips close-locked as the eyelids are— Gone—swift as the flash of the molten ore A meteor pours through a midnight sky, Leaving it blind of a single star. Tell us, O Death, Remorseless Might! What is this old, unescapable ire You wreak on us?—from the birth of light Till the world be charred to a core of fire! We do no evil thing to you— We seek to evade you—that is all— That is your will—you will not be known Of men. What, then, would you have us do?— Cringe, and wait till your vengeance fall, And your graves be fed, and the trumpet blown? You desire no friends; but we—O we Need them so, as we falter here, Fumbling through each new vacancy, As each is stricken that we hold dear. One you struck but a year ago; And one not a month ago; and one— (God's vast pity!)—and one lies now Where
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